Encore
by BlackStar42Roses
Summary: Yamamoto's twenty two and his fingers have callouses built up from years of guitar playing, yet he's never found a band to stick with. Coincidentally, Hibari, Tsuna, Reborn and Mukuro are in need of a lead guitarist. Between sheet music, cigarettes and love, they learn that this isn't the time to worry about the future. It's time for the present. Band/College AU. 8018/R27/6996
1. Chapter 1

Encore

Synopsis: Yamamoto's twenty two and his fingers have callouses built up from years of guitar playing, yet he's never found a band to stick with. Coincidentally, Hibari, Tsuna, Reborn and Mukuro are in need of a lead guitarist. Between sheet music, cigarettes, love and adrenaline-pumping tunes, they learn that this isn't the time to worry about the future. It's time for the present. Band/College AU 8018/R27/6996

The timeline's a little messed up here, because it's all Yamamoto's memories of Hibari in the order he deems them important. I'm terribly sorry if it seems to jump awkwardly between time spans. This fic is best read with any soft rock song or mellow-Sunday-time tunes. Idk, I tried putting some One Republic or Maroon 5. Or soundtracks from movies. Soundtracks are always good. Ah, I'm rambling again. But thank you for taking the time to read! It's my first 8018 fic in a long, long time. I hope I'm not out of touch, haha.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. Any similarities in events or characters living or dead are entirely coincidental.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Encore_

_Part I_

Yamamoto meets them in the dim, cramped, and humid college cafeteria, squashed together in one of the plastic fold-up tables, whittling away the Wednesday mid-week blues. Tsuna's makeup is slightly smeared, evident that he'd fallen asleep while applying the thick eyeliner again, and he's bundled up in so many multi-coloured scarves Yamamoto's retinas strain just looking at them. Reborn's talking; his voice deep and smooth, like the kind of black coffee you could buy at the café off campus, and Yamamoto tears his eyes away from the raven sitting across from him. He's seen the male a couple of times around the school, but never really got to know the beauty.

"We need another guitarist," Reborn states flatly. He's a year older than Yamamoto and he's seen the Italian making out with Tsuna more than once in one of the corners of the college. He's not bad on the eyes at all.

"I thought you already had a guitar," Yamamoto said, eyes flicking towards the raven, who was staring resolutely at a thick book on the table, but Yamamoto knows he's not reading. The inky eyes hadn't moved from its spot on the page since he sat down with the band.

"We have a rhythm guitarist," Reborn clarified. "That's me. We need a lead guitarist right now. Our drummer's Mukuro, but he's in class right now, doing whatever shit he's doing. Are you in?"

"Who's he?" Yamamoto couldn't help asking, gesturing with a friendly smile to the raven seated across from him. The other didn't even make an effort to look up.

"Hibari," Reborn says for his benefit. "He's in my year."

"Ah," Yamamoto muses, that explains why he's never seen the guy in any of his classes before. "Hm. Okay, I'm in."

"Great," Reborn says, sounding satisfied as he spears a bit of sausage with the clear plastic fork. "We practice three times a week if you can get away with it, at my place. Give me your number and I'll text you the address, and I'll forward it to the rest of the band so you can call us whenever."

That's kind of how it started out, on the dull, rainy April Wednesday and Yamamoto doubts he'll ever forget it because one, it was his birthday that day, two, he's thinking that the hung over trio sitting in front of him and the unknown drummer just _might_ be what he's been looking for, and three, it was the day he met Hibari. They'd spent the rest of the morning together, just him, Tsuna, Reborn and Hibari, crowded in the cafeteria, practically inhaling their bitter coffees and nibbling on the rock-hard muffins the lunch ladies baked. Reborn gives him the date and time for the next practice because he's the unofficial leader of the crew.

"2:30 pm, in the shed behind the apartment," Reborn says, waving his phone in front of Yamamoto's face. "Don't be late. Bring food if you can. I have cup noodles in my apartment but I need to eat too, so don't eat all of it. Do you have your own amp?"

"I do," Yamamoto confirms, checking the location of Reborn's home online, calloused fingers sliding over the touch screen. "I'll bring it."

"Cool," Reborn says, finishing the rest of his breakfast with a yawn and a wince. "I'm going back home then, my hangover is killing me. Tsuna, go to the corner store and get my some painkillers." The request is met with a single middle finger, as the brunette has already crashed out on the plastic surface of the table without even finishing his caffeinated drink. Hibari stands up, grunting something about annoying crowds under his breath, picks up a large guitar case Yamamoto didn't even notice before, and is breezing out of the cafeteria without a backwards glance.

"Asshole," Reborn groans, yanking his jacket on. "He's got a migraine too, he just doesn't like weakness and enjoys showing off his poker face. I'll see you later. Don't be late," he warned again, and Yamamoto's left alone moments after when Tsuna wakes up, claps him on the shoulder with a bleary smile and disappears off to class. Yamamoto deems it an interesting start.

He goes to his first practice a week later in the tiny plastic shed behind Reborn's apartment and formally meets Mukuro. He's nearly taller than Reborn and his hair is fucking ridiculous, but he smiles in welcome at Yamamoto from his spot behind the drums while casually drinking scotch straight out of the bottle. Tsuna is standing by the open doors, squinting at the continuous downpour. It's been raining all week and it's actually starting to flood into the little shed. Reborn walks over and slams the door shut, nudging Tsuna back over to the microphone with the neck of his guitar. They start simple with a couple of English songs so Yamamoto could get caught up, and he plays happily, fingers sliding up and down over his instrument, feeling the hard, steady beat Mukuro pounds out and relishes in the throaty thrum of Hibari's bass guitar. The raven's bunched up in a baggy black sweater, his jeans so tight it should be illegal, his bangs sweeping over his pale face. Their eyes meet, and Yamamoto offers a grin and gets a glower in return. It was in this moment that the lead guitarist really wanted to know everything about Hibari.

He finds that Hibari's birthday is about a week after his own, and much to Yamamoto's disappointment he's missed the date. Nonetheless, he chats up the raven despite getting nothing but stoic expressions, irritated punches to the stomach and glares that could melt iron in return, but Yamamoto thinks it's going swimmingly. He was rather worried at first given Hibari's unexpectedly hostile nature, but Tsuna just smiles knowingly when they're in the bathroom at the college and the brunette is touching up on the midnight blue mascara elongating his lashes. "Don't worry," he says calmly, putting his (fake) glasses back on. "Hibari's rude to everybody, don't take it too personally. If he didn't like you, you wouldn't have made it into the band in the first place. Hell, you wouldn't be alive if that were the case." Yamamoto's reassured, so he spends the rest of his time hanging out with the raven and is easily amused by the cat-like antics he receives in return.

Reborn gets them a gig halfway through May at the college pub and it's beautiful. The place is dark and hot and packed with their classmates and friends. Mukuro takes one look at Yamamoto's plain jeans and t-shirt when he arrives and _smirks_, before dragging the guitarist into the bathroom and forcied a pair of leather pants on him and bunched a vest full of zippers and safety pins and buttons around his chest. Yamamoto's dizzy just looking at it. Mukuro adds a striped tie to it and gives it all a critical once-over. "Kufufufu, you don't look half bad in my pants, but your face could do with a little touch up." Before Yamamoto could even ask what _that_ was supposed to mean, Mukuro had already applied a light touch of eyeliner and eyeshadow before shoving him backstage with the rest of the band. "I didn't overdo it, since it's your first time," Mukuro explains in a surprisingly civilized manner. "Get used to it, because image is everything." Yamamoto opens his mouth to thank the other but is interrupted by Hibari strolling purposefully between them, stepping on Yamamoto's foot and casting Mukuro a dark look that makes the drummer laugh his strange laugh before vanishing into the crowd of people.

Fifteen minutes later, Tsuna's hands are wrapped around the microphone like a lover, his lips pressed against the wire mesh, brown eyes liquid fire as he sings for the audience, slim red tank top sticking to his skin because of the sweat, and Reborn smirks like a predator, tapping his foot languidly in his well-worn leather shoes. Mukuro's not even paying attention to them anymore; he's shed his plaid top and is shirtless, lost in his own rhythm and oblivious to the sounds of girls screaming at him as he savages a beat out, all muscles and tautness. Yamamoto glances over at Hibari, who's completely immune to the heat in the same baggy black sweater Yamamoto's seen him in at his first practice, and he fucking loves seeing Hibari wear that sweater. The evening ends on a high note and they get pleasantly buzzed at the counter. Hangover's going to be a bitch, but it's alright. Yamamoto's never been so pleased about performing with a band in his whole life.

June rolls into July and that means humidity, the long-awaited release of a popular video game and summer music festivals. Reborn had applied for as many as he could online before his apartment's crappy Wi-Fi crashed, and the rest of the day is spent watching pirated movies Mukuro had picked up downtown, tuning their guitars and vicious pillow fights that leaves the room looking like December had come early. Yamamoto ducks into the kitchen for cover and is pleasantly surprised to see Hibari fixing himself a grilled cheese sandwich.

"That looks really good," Yamamoto says, plopping his chin on Hibari's shoulder as he drooled. The raven rolled his eyes and shrugged him off, grumbling, "Don't touch, it's mine, herbivore."

"Still looks good," Yamamoto grinned, though he's no longer sure if he's talking about the sandwich or Hibari's long, pale arms and slender shoulders revealed by the straggly wife-beater he's wearing. He turns and rummages through the fridge for a cold beer, popping the can open and taking a long gulp.

"Ahhh," Yamamoto sighed out, relaxing against the counter. "That's refreshing." He wipes his mouth with the hem of his V-neck, listening to Tsuna beat Mukuro up with the cushions, and grins. Hibari makes a noise in his throat and takes a bite out of his sandwich, chewing and swallowing. It makes his Adam's apple bob tantalizingly, and Yamamoto almost can't tear his eyes away as the inky orbs look over him again. There's an odd silence that stretches over the two before Hibari reaches over, plucks the beer can from Yamamoto's limp fingers and lifts it to his lips, never breaking eye contact as the raven took a long drink, letting a trail of beer run down his chin. Smirking at the expression on Yamamoto's face, Hibari shoves the can back into his hand and wipes his chin with the back of his hand before taking the sandwich back out into the living room.

Yamamoto stands very still for a moment or so, until a bull-like roar shakes the flat and Mukuro is seen scrambling out the front door, escaping barefoot while Hibari chases after him in a similar fashion, cursing up a storm while Reborn and Tsuna laughs themselves stupid on the floor. A half-eaten grilled cheese sandwich is splayed innocently on the ground, and Yamamoto couldn't help but burst into laughter as well before bringing the beer can up to his lips, and taking a long drink again.

Poor sandwich. It did look rather tasty.

Their first music festival takes place in a sprawling hillside next to a carnival, where children could be heard screaming and running and jumping on rides. But in the little valley comfortably hidden away by a sprawling mess of trees, they're performing on a rickety wooden stage, feeling the boards creak under the weight of their amps, and Hibari cranks up the bass a little more than necessary, which makes everything tremble madly. Yamamoto laughs. He's already putting on his own makeup and is wearing the new muscle shirt he brought at the outlet mall the other day. Tsuna decides to go shirtless today, and there's a tattoo of a lion on his back that certainly wasn't there two months ago. The air is thick with smoke from the barbeques blazing some ways away, the grass is flattened by two hundred pairs of sneakers, flip flops and sandals as the audience cheers them on, fistpumping to Mukuro's drumbeat, and in the heat of things, Yamamoto's a little distraught at how far away Hibari is from him on the stage. Any place where he couldn't sling an arm around the raven's shoulders is too far away. When he tries to focus on his music and the audience instead, a pair of lacey red panties lands on his face, thrown by an obviously drunk and adoring fan.

Tsuna almost chokes on his next note, hilarity evident in his face, and even Reborn cracks a snort. But when Yamamoto pulled the undergarment from his face, momentarily leaving the lead part for Reborn to cover, he sees Hibari, all the way on the other side of the wobbly stage, and the raven's _grinning_, sharp teeth exposed and eyes crinkling at the corners, and Yamamoto could only return the favour as he chucked the underwear off stage.

Hibari was beautiful when he smiled.

August means that school's coming around again and they've played at so many festivals it feels as though they've gotten drunk on performances. So after their last show before college resumed, Reborn borrows a tent from a friend in the military and they camp at a popular RV retreat three hours away from their hometown. Clearly they weren't the only ones who wanted to spend the last of their summer vacation spiraling out of control, because the place is packed with hundreds of teenagers and young adults taking advantage of the waning month. The tent is small and complicated to set up and smells like rain, but they all managed to squeeze themselves in. Yamamoto finds himself crushed next to Hibari on the first night, so close that all he had to do was lean over and their lips would meet, and couldn't be happier. There's a river that cuts through the park and even though nobody's brought swim gear, they strip down to their boxers and dive in, accompanied by some new female friends Tsuna's made the night before: Kyoko, Chrome and Haru, and a couple other college guys who performed at one of the festivals they went to too. Hibari doesn't like water nearly as much as the others did and was reluctant to get in until Yamamoto ran at him, scooped the startled raven into a bridal carry, and threw the two of them off the hill and into the deep, watery riverbed. They'd sunk right to the bottom in a tangle of limbs, and when they surface, Hibari was spluttering, shaking water out of his eyes before a smirk twisted his face and he shoved Yamamoto's head under again.

The evenings were spent crowded around the campfire, passing around cans of lukewarm beer and sharing cigarettes. The smoke's heavy on Yamamoto's lungs but he's beyond caring now, because he feels Hibari's damp hair on his shoulder and the raven's breathing lightly against his neck. He wonders if the other is as drunk as he is. They burnt sausages and bread and marshmallows and, for some odd reason, cornflakes over the fire and the rest of the space in their stomachs is filled with alcohol, save for Tsuna, who is forbidden to drink by Reborn, who claims it'll mess up his voice. But that doesn't stop any of them from participating in the joints Kyoko had dug up, and Mukuro's mixing something with all the drinks again, and god knows what happened that night. All Yamamoto can think when he blinks awake in a tent that isn't his with Hibari lying on top of his chest is, _wow, some party_ before drifting back into a lazy, mid-morning sleep.

October is colder than any of them expects it to be. School sucks the life out of everybody and Yamamoto's sitting in the cafeteria with Mukuro, watching Tsuna try not to fall asleep into his toast. Reborn is off campus for a job interview and Hibari has a test that morning, so it's just them and their unshapely pancakes on Styrofoam plates. Mukuro is texting his now-girlfriend, Chrome, and Yamamoto's sipping milk from the carton when Tsuna conversationally asks, "Are you going out with Hibari, Yamamoto?"

Yamamoto chokes on his drink and Mukuro needs to thump him to clear his airway before the guitarist is grinning and saying smoothly, "Ahaha, what makes you say that?"

"I dunno," Tsuna said airily, waving a bit of toast around. "When we went camping, you guys didn't come back to our tent on the last night and Reborn found you guys all cozy in another tent, and we thought that maybe you two were fucking already—" Yamamoto chokes unattractively again and Mukuro rolls his eyes as he pounded on Yamamoto's back "—so when things kinda progressed as friends now that we're back home it's like what the hell? So are you two dating or not?"

"We're not dating," Yamamoto blurts out honestly, and there's a surprising sting to those words as he says it. He would _very much_ like to date Hibari, but he can't really envision happening that just yet. Hibari was still just as aloof with him as he was six months ago, but things are just starting to get friendly between them, and he'd hate for it all to go to waste if the raven wasn't interested in him. As though reading his mind, Tsuna's deeply outlined eyes narrowed and said firmly, "In case you haven't really noticed, Yamamoto, Hibari's not really sociable, and if he's shared the same sleeping bag with you and hasn't gutted you when he woke up hung over, that's the equivalent of being fuck buddies with him already. Reborn's known him since high school and even he says he's never seen Hibari accept the existence of someone so quickly."

"It's true," Mukuro agrees, sliding his phone shut with a snap. "When I dated him, I was lucky to see him once a week. You hang out with him every day after school— don't pretend we can't see the two of you, because we do— _and_ you play in the same band as he does. You've got all the ground you need to start building from there."

"You dated Hibari?" Yamamoto asked, distracted. "I thought you liked girls?"

"It's called bisexual, dear, and yes, I did date Hibari, for what, three weeks? He obviously wasn't as into me as I was into him and eventually I wasn't into him anymore either, there was a fabulous kid named Fran a year under me and why pass up on opportunities, you know?"

"You didn't cheat on him, did you?" Yamamoto demanded, suddenly aggressive, even though he wasn't exactly sure of what he was annoyed about. Mukuro raised an eyebrow at the look on his face and laughed, clapping a hang on Yamamoto's broad shoulders.

"Of course not, don't be stupid. We broke up properly and as you can see, no hard feelings."

Maybe that explained the cool glares and casual punches that seemed to hold an extra bit of weight in them, Yamamoto mused. He leaned against the table, propping his chin up on his elbow. "I don't know…" he muttered. "I just don't see it yet. I think I'll give it some time, I don't want to rush anything."

"If you say so," Tsuna said cheerfully. "Just make sure you move quickly, because frankly he's quite attractive and so are you and someone else is bound to have their eye on either of you."

Yamamoto opened his mouth, about to ask _who else liked Hibari, that bastard, let me gut him_, but Tsuna neatly slid the remaining portion of his toast into Yamamoto's open mouth and said, "Don't wind yourself up over it, alright?" before slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder and disappearing off to class. Mukuro chuckled throatily as well before picking up his tray, texting Chrome all the while. Yamamoto was left to sit idly in the cafeteria, thinking of Hibari's eyes and who else liked the raven and what he was going to do about it until it was time for him to go to class, and he left with his head feeling bloated and slightly more confused than it was before.

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_Part I End_

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Thanks for reading!

-BlackStar


	2. Chapter 2

Encore

Chapter Two! I hope the storyline's not too confusing to follow still ^^" Thanks for reading this and the first chapter!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. Any similarities in events or characters living or dead are entirely coincidental.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Encore_

_Part II_

It's Thanksgiving weekend before he knows it, so Yamamoto goes home for a visit. He takes his guitar back with him for extra practice and is standing in line at the community store on campus, waiting to buy a train ticket for his trip. There's quite a backup and Yamamoto's sorely wishing he didn't wait until the last minute for this until a voice behind him says, "Going home?"

"Hibari!" Yamamoto cries out pleasantly, radiating rainbows and pure joy. Hibari's eyebrows scrunch together and he snaps, "What kind of shrooms have you been smoking? You're nauseating to look at; especially that fucking smile on your face."

"You know it's beautiful," Yamamoto sighs dramatically, running a hand over his chin. "What're you doing here?"

Hibari shrugs, a sight to behold in his double-breasted jacket and dark jeans and flat, white-laced converses. There's a striped scarf wrapped around his neck. "Buying a train ticket, moron. What else would I be doing here?"

"To see me before we part for the drastically long weekend?" Yamamoto asks hopefully, and gets a slight sneer in return.

"Right, herbivore. Whatever you think."

"Well, where're you headed then? I'm going back to Tokyo to visit my pops," Yamamoto says brightly. Hibari grunts and says, "You live with your dad?"

"Yeah, my mom died when I was little," Yamamoto sighed. "S'why I don't want pops to get lonely. I'm planning on going back for Christmas too, if Reborn doesn't bite my head off."

"He just wants practice time," Hibari shrugged, clearly indifferent to their leader's fury. "But it's not like he's going to get anything done without a bassist, guitarist _or_ a drummer, so he might as well spend the weekend fucking Sawada and not grope the brat during actual practice time."

"Mukuro's not staying either?" Yamamoto asks, because that's news to him too. Hibari snorted.

"He's visiting his new girlfriend in Hokkaido."

Yamamoto hums, not really surprised by that development, and thinks back to the shy, softly-smiling blue-haired beauty back at the RV camp in August. She must be something if she could snare _and_ have Mukuro completely devote himself to her. "Say, Hibari," Yamamoto said slowly, "Did you date Mukuro once?"

Hibari's eyebrows shoot up and he all but demands, "Where did you hear that?"

"Mukuro told me," Yamamoto says honestly, and he's hoping the raven doesn't ask about the conversation that leads to the little tidbit of information. "We were just, uh, talking about Chrome and the subject popped up."

"Hmph," Hibari scowls, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "That pineapple bastard. Three weeks hardly counts as anything, and I told him clearly before that I wasn't interested."

"Have you ever dated anybody else?" Yamamoto asks before he could stop himself. Hibari looks mildly amused now, which kind of makes Yamamoto nervous because anything that amuses Hibari is either illegal or something that he could possibly enjoy tearing apart verbally, emotionally, or physically. He was a rather violent young man, and it makes Yamamoto's heart skip a beat. Was he a masochist?

"Yes, I have. What's it to you?"

"Just curious," Yamamoto replies, trying to ignore the slight sinking feeling. He wasn't jealous. Definitely not. Hibari's dark eyes narrow rather suspiciously, but he simply rolls his shoulders, looking like he's rearranging the placement of the bones in his shoulders, and nods at some point behind Yamamoto. "It's your turn, herbivore."

Yamamoto turns, and true enough, there's a gap between him and the front desk, and there's a couple of irritated looking seniors waiting for him to make his purchase behind Hibari. Hastily walking forwards, he brought his ticket before watching Hibari buy his.

"Namimori? Where's that?" Yamamoto asks, peering at the receipt. Hibari sneers a little before stashing the slip away in the pocket of his jacket. "None of your business. Go home, lead guitarist." And with those friendly parting words, the raven hooks his backpack over his shoulders and is walking out the West exit, weaving neatly between crowds of people hanging out by the doors, laughing and joking with each other before heading home for the weekend. Yamamoto stands like a statue for a minute or so, blocking traffic, but eventually sighs and rearranges his duffle bag so the strap isn't digging into his shoulder blade. He lights up a cigarette with a light he'd nicked from Tsuna as he leaves the school, and hopes to catch the bus leaving in ten minutes for the train station downtown.

His dad, Yamamoto Tsuyoshi, is a rather insightful man.

"So, who's the lucky lady my son's pining after?" he booms, and Yamamoto nearly chokes on the miso soup he's drinking _again_. Was he really that easy to read?

"It's not like that, pops," he muttered, slightly embarrassed. Tsuyoshi looks surprised, but then he cracks a grin and corrects himself, "Oh, my mistake then, a guy?" Yamamoto's eyes almost shoot out of his sockets.

"Pops!"

"It's not like I'm against it," Tsuyoshi defends, expertly slicing apart the eel on the cutting board. "It's completely healthy for a boy your age."

"Leave it be, dad," Yamamoto half-groans, but he's got a weak smile on his face as well. He can never stay mad at his father; they're close and Yamamoto rarely keeps anything from the elder.

"Whatever you say," Tsuyoshi shrugs, acting nonchalant, but Yamamoto knows he's dying to prod his son for details. He takes his time and finishes the rest of his teriyaki before washing it all down with tea and clearing his throat.

"He's the bass guitar player in my band, pops."

"A band!" Tsuyoshi looks pleased. "So you finally found one to join? Can they stand your awful tuning skills?"

"Dad!" Yamamoto cries, almost exasperated, but he's laughing.

"They weren't downstairs when you first learned to play. It sounded like someone dragging a cat's claws on a chalkboard."

"Very funny," Yamamoto winces, thinking back to the days he'd spent huddled upstairs in his room, fiddling with the knobs on his amp and testing out every note on his old guitar. "It's going quite well, if you must know. We went to a lot of music festivals during the summer."

They exchange their own set of news one after another, Yamamoto catching up on gossip about people he knew in town and dishing out anything interesting that happened to him in class, with people, and life. It's nearly midnight by the time he finishes eating and drinking sake with some of his dad's sushi shop regulars, and retires in his old bedroom, where the faded baseball posters are still tacked onto the walls and his feet now stick out off the edge of his bed. It's definitely been a while. He spends the night staring up at the darkened ceiling, breathing deep and slow and feeling the slow afterburn of alcohol, and dreams of Hibari.

November brings about the first snowfall of the season, cold, wet, white and slushy. The shed is freezing by now; Yamamoto pulls on the fingerless gloves he brought from the second-hand store and can barely feel the digits as they slide up and down the strings of his guitar, numb from the cold yet exceptionally sensitive from running over the rough metal strands for so long. The mike's sound is full of static and skips because of the cold and eventually, they give in when Mukuro breaks his last set of drumsticks and retire into Reborn's apartment, which isn't really much warmer but lacks the drafty wind. Yamamoto's trying to wrap the cables for his amp, and is failing miserably, but the somebody nudges his arm aside and its Hibari who's taking the wires from his hands, smirking at his blunders, and carefully packing everything away. The raven's small hands brushed past Yamamoto's for a split second, and they're even colder than his own.

"Thanks," he says, watching the other at work.

"If you're cold, then say so," Hibari replies blandly, tossing everything into the storage box once he's done.

"I'll make sure to ask you for help then," Yamamoto grins, blowing harshly onto his hands to warm them up. Hibari looks up, eyebrow raised, a strand of his hair escaping his beanie hat to fall into his glowing eyes.

"It doesn't have to be me," he says slowly.

"But I want it to be you," Yamamoto shoots back, voice nearly taking on a stubborn tone, and to his surprise, a slight shade of red rises on Hibari's face. He's not sure if it's the cold or his words. "It's always you," Yamamoto adds on.

"What are you trying to say?" Hibari asks, stepping forwards, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat. He's wearing a yellow scarf today, which stands out brilliantly against his dreary-coloured clothes.

Yamamoto swallows. He's almost afraid he'll chicken out, if Hibari's words didn't ask for such specificity. "I'm just saying…it's only you. Nobody else made me want to join this band. Nobody else draws my eyes to them when we're on stage. Nobody invades my thoughts the way you do. I didn't miss Tsuna or Reborn or Mukuro the way I missed you during the holiday."

"I'm guessing you wouldn't ask any of them for help with your amp either?" Hibari asks, looking a little smug, but he answers his own question almost as an afterthought. "Well, Sawada and the pineapple don't know any of this shit, and it's not like Reborn would help you."

"But I want _you_," Yamamoto blurts out, abandoning all pretense as he reaches for Hibari, arms gently resting on the thin shoulders. "I like you."

There's a soft silence, during which the wind rattled the shed door and the light bulb on the ceiling flickered momentarily and something in the back fell off the shelf and rolled somewhere on the ground, but Yamamoto simply locked eyes with Hibari and refused to look away. Hibari snorts, and he's almost expecting a vicious reply in return when in reality, a pale hand reaches up and curls around the back of his neck, making the hairs rise up.

"Like? Just _like_? Of all the things you are, Yamamoto Takeshi, you are not a liar."

So Yamamoto takes those words to heart and stops lying to _himself_, and instantly leans in to press his lips against Hibari's. Hibari's lips are cold and slightly chapped, but his tongue is warm and the cavern of his mouth is even warmer. Thin hands that are stronger than they look instantly wrap around him, pulling him closer, and Hibari's fucking _growling_ into the kiss and Yamamoto can barely restrain himself any longer.

"Shit, Hibari," Yamamoto half moans, breaking apart for air only to be pulled back into a liplock almost immediately, and he lets one hand slide down the back of Hibari's coat and the other touch the raven's face. His cold palm makes the other shudder but Hibari shows no indication of wanting to move away. The two of them walk backwards into the wall of the shed, knocking an empty beer bottle over, kissing fervently, hotly. Hibari's tongue runs along the roof of Yamamoto's mouth and his cold hands have already bypassed the zipper of his jacket, sliding under his t-shirt and feeling the stiff, muscled stomach. Yamamoto shivers and his heart beats viciously against his ribs, wanting out. Hibari hisses like a cat and reaches downward, just as Yamamoto drops his palms to grope Hibari's ass.

"I'd like to lock up the shed now," Reborn's voice interrupts them from somewhere near the doorway. "_If_ you're both quite finished."

Yamamoto groans softly when Hibari breaks their kiss, choosing to turn to stare at Reborn instead.

"Almost done," he smirks, and Reborn rolls his eyes and slams the door shut when the feral grin on Hibari's face obviously says they're far from done.

"So," Tsuna says, munching on a limp fry as they sat huddled together in a greasy-floored, greyed table top fast food joint down the block. It's been a week since Reborn had caught Yamamoto and Hibari together in the shed, and things have only been eventful since then. "When were you two planning on telling us?"

"Never," Hibari says irritably, stealing a crouton out of Yamamoto's bacon salad. If Tsuna hadn't known Hibari for so long, he might've been actually affronted. Instead, he just let out a long-suffering sigh, an elfishly disguised grin and muttered, "Well, a robot can have urges, I guess."

Mukuro snorts, chewing on the end of his straw. "Better you than me, Yamamoto dear, kufufufufu." Hibari glowers and is about to fling some of Yamamoto's food at the drummer, but the taller of the two grins widely and takes the raven's hand instead. "Now, now, don't waste my food."

Tsuna's and Mukuro's jaws drop simultaneously. "Oh my god," Tsuna splutters. "Yamamoto initiated human contact and his hand hasn't been chopped off yet. It's a _fucking bloody miracle_."

"Piss off!" Hibari snaps, and his temper is quelled only when Yamamoto throws an arm around the raven's neck and drags him in for a deep kiss. Tsuna chokes on his milkshake (it's oddly satisfying to hear somebody else gag on their drink instead of himself, Yamamoto muses), Reborn snorts and Mukuro's completely unaffected as he munches on his cheeseburger. It is days like these that Yamamoto stores into his memory with the fondest feeling in his heart; when they could hang out in cheap restaurants and steal food off each other and talk about whatever comes to mind. When he could easily hook an arm around his boyfriend and get a half-hearted elbow to the ribs in retaliation. When they're making out so enthusiastically in the secluded corners of the library that bruises colour on Hibari's hips and Yamamoto's arms ache from the effort of it all.

And then, there are days that everything just goes to hell.

January (late January, if Yamamoto remembers correctly); Mukuro clears his throat hoarsely after practice and catches their attention. Usually, the long-haired drummer just sticks to pounding away on the set or drinking between breaks during their run-throughs, so the expressionless, indifferent look on his face throws them off for a bit.

"What?" Reborn finally asks, when a moment of uncomfortable silence has passed through them. There's not even a breath of wind to provide a bit of white noise; it's almost as though Mother Nature wants them to get on with it and hear whatever Mukuro has to say. The blue-haired man coughs again, swallowing a mouthful of vodka before blurting out, "I'm quitting the band."

Whatever any of them had been expecting, it wasn't this. Tsuna's jaw drops slightly and Hibari's eyebrow goes up a fraction of an inch, which is as surprised as his fixed expressions would go.

"…why?" Reborn asks again, because he's the leader and it's his job to know this kind of thing. There's something hidden in his voice, though, and whether it's anger or confusion or acceptance, Yamamoto doesn't know. He's just as curious and shocked as the others are. They were all getting along swimmingly; what caused the drummer to change his mind?

Mukuro, to his credit, doesn't shift his gaze. He simply stands up and sticks his drumsticks into his back pocket and says, "Chrome's pregnant."

There's another bout of silence after that. Mukuro hums absently, picking up his coat and unconsciously tugging at the feathers around the hood. "I'm leaving school as well. Things are gonna get busy for a while."

"Your girlfriend's pregnant?" Yamamoto says, breaking the silence, feeling completely off. "Congrats."

Mukuro's smile is humorless and twisted. "Kufufufufu…thank you, Yamamoto, I suppose. You're always able to see the best in things, aren't you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Yamamoto asks, because now he's feeling a little stupid. It didn't help that Tsuna was shifting uncomfortably from side to side, Reborn's gaze was tense enough to melt the side of the shed, and Hibari hadn't said a word. It was almost as though they were choosing to remain impassive.

"You're the first person to congratulate me," Mukuro says simply. "It is a little refreshing, so to speak. Most of the things I've heard are 'what the fuck?' or silence, like the others right now."

Yamamoto balks slightly, wondering if he's crossed into unknown territory. "I'm sorry…I'm just happy for you. I didn't mean to offend—?"

"No, no," Mukuro smirks, yanking his coat on and slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Considering that her dad's thrown me out of his house upon hearing the news and told me to never show my disgusting whore face near his daughter ever again, I'm quite satisfied with your response. I'll be leaving now; I've got a few last classes to attend. Later."

And he's bustling out of the shed, door shutting with a rattle after him. Yamamoto's bemused as hell now.

"What did I say?" he asked, desperate for a little closure. He didn't like how awkward and tense the atmosphere was now. Tsuna sighs and rubs the back of his neck, re-directing his gaze up at the ceiling with a very long sigh.

"Fucksocks, Yamamoto, I keep forgetting that you weren't originally in the band."

"What happened?" Yamamoto pressed, but Reborn was already packing up his things, his movements jerky. Something's definitely up. Tsuna shakes his head a little and waits for Reborn to exit the shed without so much of a reply before mouthing 'sorry' and disappearing as well. Yamamoto sags against the wall, huffing, and doesn't expect Hibari to elaborate if two of the most sociable members of the band aren't willing to talk about it. Once again, though, he's surprised by his boyfriend.

"Two years ago, in their freshman year, Mukuro dated a girl," Hibari says calmly. "It was the first year we started the band and it was just the four of us. Sawada was still in high school but he was dating Reborn already. Everything was all dandy and we were well on our way to getting a contract with the amount of attention we'd gained from performing in festivals and shows. But the idiot pineapple got his girlfriend pregnant."

"This isn't the first time?" Yamamoto asks, startled. Mukuro had always seemed a bit like a playboy, but he'd been very private about any of his past relationships other than Hibari.

"Well, that fucked us right over," Hibari snaps, unplugging his bass from the amp. "It obviously didn't go over well with the school, with Mukuro, or the girl's parents. He almost lost his scholarship and eventually failed one of his courses. The contract dream died out, and Reborn isn't nearly as forgiving as he seems. He just gave Mukuro another chance because he thought if the guy cleared his head a little, he won't make the same mistake again and we'd have a shot, especially with you. He thinks highly of your skills you know."

Yamamoto's happy to hear that, but the emotion's delayed by the shocking news he's currently receiving. "What happened? To Mukuro's girlfriend, I mean?"

Hibari shrugs, done packing up already while Yamamoto's still got his guitar hanging around his neck. "I don't know. She left the school and rumors were she had an abortion. But she and Mukuro never contacted each other again. Her parents hated him. One would think he'd be careful not to make the same mistake again. I don't even know what he's going to do about this whole pile of shit now."

"He's not going to leave Chrome, is he?" Yamamoto asks, slightly panicked, and Hibari snorts distractingly.

"No. He's not a heartless bastard, which makes him all more infuriating. He's probably going to get a job and try to raise the kid on his own, or together if Chrome moves out with him. Damn him," Hibari grits out suddenly, running a furious hand through his hair. "Why can't he be an asshole about this? It's so much easier to hate him if he'd just laughed it off and ditched her. What the fuck is he playing at?"

"If he was such a bad guy, you'd never have let him joined in the first place," Yamamoto points out gently, and Hibari bristles a little at the truth in those words. Yamamoto's a little pleased with himself for catching on so quickly. "You're not mad at him, because he's not skirting like a coward or just looking out for himself. He's being responsible." Hibari huffs fiercely, as though trying to act mad but failing.

"Well, point his, Reborn's probably taking down a wall right now. He can't stand people who act on impulse all the time, and that's what the pineapple's all about. And we're down a drummer now. There won't be practice for a while."

Yamamoto bites his lip, never breaking eye contact with Hibari. The raven holds the stare, all sternness and stiffness and defiance, but he walks over anyway, leans against Yamamoto's chest, suddenly looking tired. It's started snowing outside; a soft, fluffy layer of frozen flakes had already coated the pavement. It is days like these that Yamamoto stores into his memory with dread in his heart; when Reborn's face was barely hiding his anger and Tsuna was unwilling to make eye contact with anyone and when Hibari was digging another hole in his heart to bury his emotions into. When he could feel the frustrated sigh Hibari musters against his chest, because a baby's nothing to joke about, because the band's original dream was crushed for a second time, when they thought that things could go better now, with a fresh face and a fresh start, only for Mukuro to throw them off track again. But Yamamoto knows that none of them are really that enraged with their drummer; the emotional blow of being rejected by his in-laws and the burden of a father being thrust on him too quickly aren't something a twenty-three year old should go through at this stage, whether or not it was his fault that a baby came into a picture.

Sometimes, Yamamoto wonders if they were growing up too _fast_.

* * *

_Part II _

_End_

* * *

Thank you for taking the time to read! I won't be long with the next chapter, promise :D

-BlackStar


	3. Chapter 3

Encore

Whao. It's the middle of August already…and school's going to start soon. I'm torn between hating the need to get up fucking early and getting so much work or feeling happy that I'll see my friends again. Arrrgh, all I want to do is sleep and eat half the time ;_; But thanks for taking the time to read! And hugs to anyone who favourited and reviewed ^^ Cheers!

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. Any similarities in events or characters living or dead are entirely coincidental.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Encore_

_Part III_

True to Hibari's word, they didn't have practice for a while. School continued on, almost rudely disregarding their current predicament, and Yamamoto couldn't focus in class. He fidgets, chews the end of his pens, and draws mindless doodles in his notebook. He'd been warned by his old high school teachers and counselors about this: sudden, distracting events that would occur in life, and how he should keep his mind on his work to avoid any academic problems. Not that Yamamoto ever truly took to heart what his counselors once said. If that were the case, he would have never picked up a guitar, never tried out for his school's baseball team, never have done anything _fun_. Some things just had to be based on a person's natural preference, not what someone else thinks is right for them.

"You know," Hibari snarls, wrenching the end of another pencil out of Yamamoto's mouth. "If you're going to indulge in that nasty habit use your own goddamned writing utensils!"

"Sorry," Yamamoto grins sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. The two of them are curled up in Hibari's closet-sized dorm, bags left sagging by the door and their homework spread out over any flat, available surface. The raven was curled up with his laptop on the floor, wearing one of Yamamoto's hoodies and a pair of ripped skinny jeans (he knew Yamamoto liked seeing that combination on him, damn it) and Yamamoto was lying on his stomach on the low bed, trying with all his might to focus on the reflective essay that was due in two days. He didn't even have his thesis statement down yet. There's a moment of silence where Hibari chucks the pencil into the garbage bin with a rattle and Yamamoto pouts, stifling a long-suffering sigh that the older of the two doesn't miss.

"What's on your mind?" Hibari groans out eventually, slamming his laptop shut.

"Nothing," Yamamoto waves him off, but Hibari slaps the hand aside and shifts sideways on his butt so that he can sit facing Yamamoto.

"Nothing my ass. I demand to know what you're thinking."

"Aw, Hibari, is this you caring about my well-being?" Yamamoto grins, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You wish," the raven sneers, whacking him on the head with his Korean dictionary. "If you don't get whatever's on your chest off sooner or later you're going to chew off the ends of _all_ my damned pencils. I need them, you know. And you need to work. How much is that essay of yours worth?"

"Twenty percent of my midterm," Yamamoto sighs, rolling across the blankets like a sad little puppy. "I really should get started."

"Talk now, start later," Hibari snaps. "It's about the pineapple, isn't it?"

Yamamoto doesn't say anything, but Hibari knows anyway. He probably knew right from the very start.

"Well, yeah, obviously. I mean, Chrome's pregnant. That's not something that happens every day, and it's not something to joke about either. He's what, twenty three? That's kinda young. They're not even married and her parents hate him and everything's gone to the crows with him. It's gotta suck."

"You don't say," Hibari grumbles, picking at a stray thread on the sweater. "But that's up to him. He's never liked people sticking their nose into his business. Regardless of what he says about us being his friends, he's never really thought of us that way. He's an ass like that, but that's the way he deals with things. Don't get involved."

"But why not?" Yamamoto shoots back, curious now. "It's got to be a little lonely being like that."

Hibari shrugs indifferently. "So?" and Yamamoto's almost forgotten how closed off the raven's always been, and he sort-of sees why Hibari doesn't feel the need to check up on their drummer now that the whole fiasco's blown onto them.

"Where's his dorm?" Yamamoto asks finally, and Hibari narrows his eyes.

"When you're dating someone, Yamamoto Takeshi, you don't go around asking for another guy's room number."

"What? No! No, it's not—not like that, Hibari, I'd never—" Yamamoto flushes, babbling nonsense, and he almost misses the amused glint in Hibari's dark eyes.

"You're too easy, herbivore," Hibari snickers. He opens his laptop again and there's a momentary pause before the raven says, "12B; one of the apartments behind the philosophy department. Fair warning, though, I think he's still got a bit of cocaine from that Sasagawa guy from Kinetic Sciences, so don't blame me if he gives you a black eye because he doesn't like people visiting him."

"I'll keep that in mind," Yamamoto chuckles, and he pinches a pen out of Hibari's pencil case before reconsidering his opening paragraph again, and does it really matter if Othello's a jealous bastard and how does that really relate to the theory of outward social influence? But Yamamoto still can't bring himself to write or _think_, for that matter, not yet, anyway, and judging by the elongated lapse of silence in the room, Hibari's fingers are just as still as his even though the laptop's running.

Yamamoto eventually goes for a visit after he catches up on his sleep (he's spent the last two days and nights speed-writing his essay, and usually speed-writing means no rest). The apartments are single rooms, a little damp and a little tidier than Reborn's flat off-campus, but he can smell the cigarette smoke permanently stuck on the walls and, oddly enough, tomato soup. Yamamoto decides not to find out why.

Mukuro doesn't open the door on his first knock, or his second, or his fifteenth, for that matter. Frowning, Yamamoto texts the drummer, trying to convey his friendliness through the electronic device, although that really only extends to smiley faces after the end of every sentence. He hears a beeping noise behind the thin wooden door and a small groan before there are footsteps shuffling across the small space and Mukuro wrenches the door open, his eyes a little bloodshot and a piece of hair sticking up awkwardly from his head.

"Hey, sorry, were you sleeping?" Yamamoto asks, even though it's obvious Mukuro wasn't by the smell of smoke on him and the joint in his hand. The drummer raises an eyebrow, but he says nothing as he lets Yamamoto in, yawning widely and tiredly. Some homework was strewn all over the bed and the desk, and a couple of posters of sleek, Italian cars are taped up on the faded walls. The ashtray is overflowing and bottle of tequila is open on the table, although it doesn't look like it's been drunk yet. To Yamamoto's surprise, there's a photo on the nightstand of a younger Mukuro standing with a short, sharp-toothed blonde, a guy wearing glasses and a beanie, a pretty girl with cherry-red hair and a little boy wearing a strange frog hat.

"My friends," Mukuro says pointedly, noticing where Yamamoto was staring. "We grew up together in a small town in Spain."

"You lived in Spain?" Yamamoto asks, surprised. It was sunny in the picture, and all the kids, no older than thirteen, were tanned.

"For a while," Mukuro shrugs. His expression is weary. He moves forwards, past Yamamoto, and turns the frame face-down. "What are you doing here?"

"Just wanted to see how you're doing," Yamamoto says calmly. "You okay? You look tired."

Mukuro shoots him a scathing look. "I am perfectly fine. Does Hibari know you're here?"

"He gave me your room number," Yamamoto replies evenly. Mukuro scoffs at that, crossing his arms.

"I knew I should have moved," he scowled. "Well, you got what you wanted. I'm fine, all's dandy, I really want to finish my smoke and sleep, so do you mind leaving now? I still have to hand in my profile for class later."

"I came to see if you were fine, and you are obviously not," Yamamoto frowns. "And you shouldn't be smoking right now if you've got work."

"Fuck off; what are you, my mom?" Mukuro spits, but Yamamoto doesn't feel the need to get mad. He's getting the feeling the drummer doesn't really mean those words.

"I'm just worried."

"You don't even know me!"

"It's been nearly a year," Yamamoto shoots back. "I consider us _friends_ at the very least, Mukuro, even if I'll never come as close as Reborn or Tsuna or Hibari or those kids in that photo."

"Softies like you don't go far in life," Mukuro snarls, tapping his foot furiously against the ground. It's probably a drumming thing. "Please, for the sake of whatever, piss off before I get stoned, will you?"

"Mukuro—"

"JUST GO!" Mukuro bellowed, finally losing his temper. Yamamoto knows instantly that he's crossed some kind of invisible line again, but he also knows that Mukuro isn't actually mad at _him_, per se, he's just got a load on his chest and it's bearing down too hard right now.

"You can't help me. Words are nothing. When was the last time you got a girl pregnant, huh? Have you ever been kicked out of _another _house? Ever been called names to your face about your absent sense of logic? You don't get it!"

"I didn't mean that," Yamamoto urgently replies; some asshole in the room next door is pounding on the wall for them to shut up. "I just don't want you to be alone when dealing with all this, I don't know your problems but I'm not so inconsiderate that I'd just stand back. Call me a busybody, if you will."

There's a pained stretch of stillness, where Mukuro's breathing hard and Yamamoto's worried he might throw something. Then—

"Goddamn it," Mukuro half-growls, half-sobs, turning around and kicking at a chair. It falls and clatters to the ground, cracked in many places but still barely holding it together. It reminds Yamamoto oddly of the drummer himself. Mukuro heaves a weary sigh, deep and long, and almost unthinkingly, he whispered, "My first girlfriend had an abortion. Her parents forced her into it. And when she told me the one time I went looking for her, it was like some part of me had fallen out. It was my baby—" Mukuro chokes momentarily on his own words, a kind of desperate look of grief on his pale face.

"My baby was gone. Destroyed, if you will. I know it's not uncommon for abortions to happen in this society and I knew that I had no say in it, but...gods, I'd never felt so...so..."

He breaks off, fingers clenched tight around the joint, breathing hard like he'd run a marathon. "Go ahead," he says suddenly; meeting Yamamoto's eyes for the first time. "Laugh. Laugh at my teenage stupidity, my lack of common sense, my obviously fucked up brain."

Yamamoto's startled by that—he'd never laugh at Mukuro, who was he to judge him?— but then he realized that it was the lack of response on his part that was starting to scare his friend. Usually the news was accompanied by either swear words, violence, degrading slurs or an awkward fall-out. Mukuro has never really had anyone react positively to his words. It made Yamamoto's gut wrench a little at the cold, defensive look in Mukuro's eyes.

"Why would I laugh?" he asks softly. "You're crying, Mukuro, and tears aren't meant to be laughed at."

"You probably think I'm full of shit," Mukuro groans, sitting down heavily onto his bed. "Meaningless shit."

"No tears are meaningless," Yamamoto corrects firmly, taking the joint out of Mukuro's hand and stubbing it out in the brimming ashtray. Normally he'd finish it off, but he thought it best to have a clear head while dealing with an emotionally pained friend. "Every tear shed should have a reason behind it. That's what my pops always told me. If you cry, that means you have a heart."

Mukuro squints at him. "Your dad's kinda rocked off his socks, no offense. That sounds like a proverb straight out of the Chinese dictionary or some shit."

He's starting to sound a little bit like his old self now, so Yamamoto grins and reaches for the previously untouched drink on the desk, pouring out a shot of extremely old tequila out for the drummer. It even smells a little acidic. "Bottoms up," he encourages, pressing it into Mukuro's palm. "And get your ass off the ground; you don't look your best groveling."

Mukuro drinks up, draining the shot glass in one swallow, and he shakes his head a little before getting to his feet. "Right," he says hoarsely. "Right. I'm going to...going to shower," he says, getting up and saying only a tad bit. "Shower, finished my damn homework, and...I'm going to get new drumsticks," he murmurs, and Yamamoto's heart leaps a little hopefully.

"Will you consider joining the band again?" Yamamoto asks quietly, praying to god he's not pushing the boundaries. Mukuro turns back, ponytail swishing, and he regards Yamamoto closely for a second.

"Not right now," he rasps. "Later, after I clear up the shit between her parents and us and the school and me. But I promise I'll consider it, yeah?"

"Great," Yamamoto exhales, a feeling of relief coursing through him. Regardless of Reborn's harsh words and Tsuna's shifty looks and Hibari's refusal to be involved, he knows that there's no one else that could ever replace Mukuro. "Thanks."

"I should be thanking you," Mukuro coughs out. "And Jesus Christ, Yamamoto, what the fuck did you give me to drink? I sound like a vulture!"

"It _is_ old tequila," Yamamoto laughs apologetically, and Mukuro huffs before disappearing into the bathroom. Work here now done, Yamamoto grabs his coat to leave, but not before taking a swig out of the bottle himself. It's liquid fire and reeks of raw alcohol and burns his throat on the way down, but never has Yamamoto felt more refreshed in terms of both mind and life. Mukuro, whether he knew it or not, was an eye opener for him, and Yamamoto would be damn sure he didn't have to go through this alone. Busybody indeed.

And when Hibari demands to know how he could randomly lose his voice, Yamamoto only quirks a secretive, cheeky grin. And when Reborn mentions with an air of badly disguised casualness that Mukuro's going back to class again, things smooth out for a bit for the rest of the band too.

February is snow, Valentine's Day, and the new brand of hot chocolate being sold at the café. As far as Yamamoto knew, Hibari hated snow, hated Valentine's Day, and hated hot chocolate. It wasn't even like the raven knew _what_ Valentine's Day was; he just hated the colour pink and white and red (unless it was blood pouring out of a mortal enemy. Yamamoto didn't ask) and sugary foods. Apparently there was some lactose intolerance involved and there was even a history behind it, although Hibari gave anybody who dared bring it up the evil eye, which had been proven to be lethal. All in all, Yamamoto takes it as a bad sign when Reborn and Tsuna, both looking extremely weary and resigned, tell him the campus pub had asked them to do another show on Valentine's Day itself.

Hibari was mysteriously absent during the entire conversation. Yamamoto wondered who he was beating up.

The pub gives them the time frame for the show night, and Reborn grumbles and scowls and apparently throws darts at a photo of Mukuro before agreeing to it. Tsuna reassures Yamamoto when he hesitantly approaches them because obviously their usual drummer isn't going to be hanging around for the weekend, he's busy after all. As it transpires, Reborn is actually a perfectly adequate drummer; he just likes playing guitar more. So they're down to four people as they walk on stage amidst cheers and clapping, dressed in red to honour the occasion, feeling the heat in the room already. Yamamoto finishes his beer before it could get warm and slings his guitar over his shoulder. Tsuna's shouting greetings into the microphone to get the crowd riled up even more, and Hibari looks over, smirking when Yamamoto notices that the raven's wearing his hoodie. So not fair.

Tsuna coughs a little as he grabs the microphone, smiling his winning smile at the crowd through thick lashes. "Long time no see," he purrs. "Did you miss us?" If anything, the screams of the crowd grew louder and more deafening.

Hibari rolls his eyes in disinterest and throws a smirk in Yamamoto's direction. Reborn obviously dislikes his spot from the back, but nonetheless looks pleased at the turnout. Yamamoto thinks about Mukuro and their once-failed dream for making it into the show business. There would be no doubt that Reborn would be perfectly capable of handling himself and the rest of the band, but would circumstances provide that chance for them? When they graduated from college, would they still be together as a band? And suddenly, Yamamoto thinks, does _he_ want to go professional?

He's so deep in thought that he almost missed Tsuna's cue for him to start, and the result is a bit of feedback as he almost drops his pick. Hibari shoots him a curious look, and Yamamoto grins sheepishly at the crowd before starting the melody, puncturing each note with sharp, perfect precision. The students laugh but they love it, they love the music, and Yamamoto's good enough not to screw up a second time. Tsuna's voice is low and husky and has developed a strange sort of coarseness to it, but it matches Reborn's style of drumming, which is thick, fast, and heavy. While Mukuro's sound liked to float with a sort of an airy indifference, always including a little bit of surprise and mysteriousness to it, Reborn's was solid and steadfast. Tsuna manhandled the mike as Hibari gave his bass guitar a tweak, letting the sound echo in the pub and rattle the glasses on the tabletops.

They're a good team, Yamamoto realizes. They could go far. He wished things would stay okay like this for a while, even if it's only for a while. Reborn won't be their drummer and Mukuro has his own problems to solve and Tsuna sounds like he's actually getting a sore throat right now, but that's what they're all striving for, isn't it? Just a moment of peace is better than none at all.

* * *

_Part III_

_End_

* * *

Thanks for reading!

-BlackStar


	4. Chapter 4

Encore

I finished this chapter while I went camping. Nothing like an open sky and chirping birds and the wind whistling through the trees for wonderful inspiration. Naw, I'm kidding. I was tipsy while writing this and I spent a lot of time smacking mosquitoes away from me. It was a good trip away from the city though. I think I lost a gallon of blood as well, but that story's for another time. Thanks for taking the time to read and review! –hearts-

Also: A happy birthday wish for a not-so random person! I'm sorry I missed your birthday…er—three times already due to several unfortunate turns of circumstances…but nonetheless, many happy returns.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. Any similarities in events or characters living or dead are entirely coincidental.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Encore_

_Part IV_

Yamamoto has always assumed that Reborn and Tsuna drew Hibari into the world of music. When he confesses the thought to the brunette in one of the rarer moments he and Reborn aren't joined to the hip, Tsuna laughs through his beer.

"Oh god no, Reborn and Hibari are the ones who started the band together."

"No way," Yamamoto stares, chewing on the edge of his can.

"Way," Tsuna grins, cheekily, shivering a little in his thin polyester jacket. It's March by now, but while the snow had come and gone, the cold had not. "It all started in high school— I hadn't even started dating Reborn back then. Reborn heard Hibari playing something of his own on the roof and he didn't even think twice before asking him to start a band out of the blue. And Hibari didn't even pause to consider it before agreeing."

"Just like that?" Yamamoto asks, unable to stop imagining Hibari camped out on the school roof with his bass and papers scattered around him while Reborn stood by, blabbing about forming a band. Hibari simply going along with things seemed like a very un-Hibari thing to do, mainly because he's the type of guy who would say no just to make things complicated. Yamamoto almost laughed out loud at the thought, with a slight twang of amused guilt for thinking of his boyfriend like that.

"Just like that," Tsuna confirms. "Our school had a musician's corner on Friday afternoons after classes, and anyone could just go and share their stuff. Reborn heard me sing once, and he made me perform in front of Hibari when we were trying out for vocalists."

"Did you dazzle him with your outstanding skills?" Yamamoto teases, watching an avid runner jog by, their breaths coming up in wisps of smoke in the cold.

"Hell no," Tsuna shoots back, wrinkling his nose. "Hibari hated me. Said I had no flair for the stage, though that was probably because I was scared shitless while performing because he has that laser glare, y'know? But he knew that I could play the guitar, so I did that and Reborn took over the drums. Our first vocalist was a guy named Gokudera."

"What was he like?" Yamamoto asks, curling his cold fingers around his can. Tsuna thinks for a moment, a rather fond look on his face.

"He was loud. And scary. He argued relentlessly with Hibari." Tsuna giggles a little at that. "He dressed like a punk, swore like a sailor and got angry over every little thing. But when he sang…his voice was beautiful. He could even play the piano. He sung in Italian for us once. The song was lovely, even though Reborn was the only one who understood a word."

Yamamoto laughs, thinking of Hibari scrunching up his eyebrows in slight confusion and tried to imagine what type of song Gokudera would've sung, but grew a little serious when he ventured into the next question. "What happened to him? Why'd he quit?" Reasons behind band split-ups are usually dangerous waters to tread in.

Tsuna's expression droops a little, now looking sad and wistful. "His mother died. She was the one who taught him how to sing, and how to play the piano, and he was hurt so badly over it. He had to go back to Italy with his older sister after that, but before he did, he left me some of his incomplete songs. I finished them in my spare time and made them my own. That was when I really started getting into the performance side of things, and when I started singing again, Hibari agreed on me being the new vocalist."

Yamamoto hums in understanding, tossing out his garbage as Tsuna coughs into his sleeve, slightly hoarse and raspy. He couldn't help but feel very sorry for this Gokudera guy; Yamamoto's didn't have a mother either, and there would always be a part of his heart that would remain void because of it. "Where does Mukuro come in?"

"Ah, Mukuro," Tsuna grins, swallowing thickly. "I love telling this part of the story. It was the band's two year anniversary, and we were celebrating at a bar near the college while I was visiting Reborn. Mukuro made a pass at Hibari while he was at the counter. I thought Hibari would just swear at him or something, but turns out he had a little too much to drink and Hibari decked the poor guy. It ended in a really, really violent bar brawl."

"A _what_?" Yamamoto chokes, a laugh bursting out. "Oh, hell."

"Yeah, well, looking back we probably caused a lot of trouble," Tsuna says, snickering as well. "The two of them got arrested and had to spend a night in jail together. While they were stuck at the police station, apparently they talked a lot and when they got out the next morning, Hibari said he'd found us a new drummer!"

"Talking? That's all that happened?" Yamamoto repeats, torn between chortling and gaping. "They punch each other's lights out minutes after they meet but can act civilly for a couple of hours together?"

"Killing time in a closet-sized holding cell that smells like piss is a fantastic bonding experience," Tsuna says solemnly, lighting a cigarette. On the first intake though, he's struck with a sudden, mad coughing fit.

"Easy now," Yamamoto says, startled. "You sick or something? That cough sounds nasty."

"Probably caught my roommate's bug," Tsuna grumbles, surrendering his cancer stick over to Yamamoto, who takes a puff of greyish smoke. It warms his lungs immediately while probably turning them black. "I'd better lay off the drinks for a while too."

"Get better soon," Yamamoto muses, mussing up Tsuna's fluffy brown hair. They walk back to the college together, with Tsuna telling stories of how Mukuro completely blew them away with his technique, the band's first live at some crabby recreation center in Reborn's hometown, and the older songs they composed together. By the time they got back, Hibari's class was over and the raven was standing by the front doors about to text Yamamoto, so Tsuna flounces off to find Reborn as Yamamoto hands Hibari a cup of hot tea from the convenience store.

"Chai; your favourite," he says, smiling. Hibari rolls his eyes and elbows him in the ribs, but he doesn't stop Yamamoto when the taller leans over to drop a kiss on his forehead. Maybe, Yamamoto thinks, Hibari's finally starting to truly let him in.

March and April comes and goes like nobody's business, and Yamamoto almost has a hard time believing that it's been a year since he sat in the cramped cafeteria on that dull Wednesday morning and officially joined the band. They've become a favourite down at the campus pub, and with the end of the school year fast approaching as well, another summer's worth of highly anticipated music festivals are almost enough to overshadow the looming threat of final exams. Their practices slow considerably though, because Mukuro's still not back yet and apparently Tsuna's cough isn't getting any better, so Reborn's making him lay off the singing, smoking and drinking while they study. Not that that stops Yamamoto and Hibari from taking their own time to practice.

Hibari, Yamamoto discovers, has singing skills limited to the karaoke bar but writes songs like the genius he is. Which is odd, considering he's never really played a melody instrument before, but as Yamamoto strums out the first few chords of a piece titled _Clouded_, he has to admit he's falling a little in love all over again.

"Gosh, Hibari, have you ever thought of letting Tsuna sing some of these?" Yamamoto asks, thumbing through the ratty, 200¥ notebook his boyfriend scrawls his masterpieces into. "The fans love this style, and it complements the band's image so well."

"None of these songs are ready yet," Hibari snaps, making his bass growl so deeply the walls of the shed rattle. It's just the two of them today, and Hibari had to let them in with the spare key under the loose cobblestone next to the door.

"But they're beautiful," Yamamoto bemoans, humming idly to himself. 'You should definitely perform one of these before the year is over. What about our last gig at the campus pub?"

"No," Hibari grumbles. "I'm not done with any of them yet. Now if you don't stop bugging me, I'll bite you to death, herbivore."

"Ooh, kinky," Yamamoto grins, and barely ducks in time to avoid the dusty old paint can that came flying at his head. It crashes into the wall behind him and hits the floor, rolling away. "Well, let me know when you want to unveil any of these and stun the entire musical world with them."

Hibari snorts. "Never. And you're the first person to see any of my songs, so I'd thank you to keep your damn trap shut or I'll do you a favour and permanently staple your mouth close for you."

"My lips are sealed," Yamamoto says at once, miming locking and losing away a key. His chest feels unnaturally warm and his stomach fluttery—Hibari trusted him enough to show him all these compositions. He wasn't about to betray that kind of faith, especially when those songs seem to have a deeper meaning that Yamamoto could specifically decipher. Hibari had been writing for a long time. The oldest song dates back six years ago, called _Yellow Bird_. He flicks through _Death by Sakura_, _Roll_, _Dreamt myself into the future_, _Fight for Pride_ and _Children's War_ before coming to several pages of mindless notes, snippets of half-finished lyrics and chords. There's a piece called _Rocking Horse_ that's so badly scribbled over Yamamoto can't read a word of it, and on the page after that there is a simple song titled _Skylark_. It captures his interest immediately, although Yamamoto's not sure how. The song isn't very long, nor is it particularly complicated, but there's something about the flow of the music, the choice of the words in the lyrics and the slow, enigmatic feel to it that makes his stomach bubbly nervously and the hairs on his forearm stand up; like a breath of cold wind had just wafted by him. It is a feeling Yamamoto can't possibly explain, but knows is tied with the initial discovery of a great piece of music.

"I think that's enough show-and-tell now," Hibari quips, snatching the book out of Yamamoto's hands. "Get your grubby paws off."

"You let me read them," Yamamoto teases as he hands the book back back, and Hibari steps purposefully on his foot before returning to his corner to pack his equipment.

"I have class now. I'll be back in two hours."

"Hm? Okay," Yamamoto hums, walking forwards to nuzzle his nose into Hibari's dark, silky hair. "Let's go for lunch afterwards."

"You're buying, herbivore," Hibari smirks, but he lets Yamamoto kiss down the back of his neck while he wraps the cables up.

"Alright," Yamamoto replies, arms circling around Hibari's waist just as the shed door flies open and Reborn walks in, saying, "Guys, have you seen my car keys—Jesus, will you two quit making out in my goddamn shed?!"

"You interrupted!" Hibari growls crossly, untangling himself from Yamamoto's arms so he yank his backpack on and sling his bass guitar case over that. He slaps the spare key into Reborn's palm and snaps, "Move," before barreling his way out.

"Have you checked Tsuna's dorm?" Yamamoto asks as Reborn upturns the crates and empty toolboxes in the corner. "Where do you need to go anyway?" He recalls Reborn's beat-up yellow Volvo needing a bunch of parts to be changed and the rather terrifying squeal it makes every time the driver hit the brakes a tad too hard. He wonders why anyone in their right mind would actually get into that vehicle.

"I'm dropping Tsuna off to the doctor's before I go grocery shopping," Reborn grunts. "His cough is getting worse. I think it's an infection."

"Will he be okay?" Yamamoto frowns.

"Probably. He says he's okay. I still say the fucking doctor knows best." Reborn swore irritably as his phone buzzes nosily in his pocket, signaling a text. Yamamoto watches with amusement as the Italian reads the message, hisses angrily and stuffs his cell back into his jacket pocket. "Never mind, turns out Tsuna had the keys in his stupid rucksack the whole time. I'll be going now."

"See you later then," Yamamoto smiles, strumming his guitar to the few chords he remembers from _Skylark_.

Reborn was nodding and halfway out of the shed before suddenly doubling back and saying, "Hey, your birthday's at the end of the month, right?"

"Yeah," Yamamoto replies, looking up.

"What to do a joint celebration with Hibari's? We can all go downtown. One of my friends owns a pub by the train station."

Yamamoto grins, surprised. "That sounds great."

Reborn nods again and shouts as he hurries away, "I'll text you later!" and vanishes back into his apartment, leaving Yamamoto to tweak his guitar every other minute or so, lost in his own thoughts and the songs Hibari had written.

The bar they end up going to is called 'Before Rain'. Reborn's friends, part-time military couple Lal Mirch and Colonello shows them into a wide, plush-cushioned corner booth in the back of the pub and brings up the first round of shots and a large bowl of snacks, all on the house. Colonello, a towering blonde with the lightest baby blue eyes claps Yamamoto and Hibari cheerfully on the shoulders. "Many happy returns, kora! I'll drop by when you need refills, alright?" Lal, who has ragged navy-blue hair and a fierce, bone chilling glare gives them all the evil eye before stalking back through the warm and hazy smoke to the counter. Tsuna assures Yamamoto that Lal isn't trying to curse him; she's just a bit stiff and her military days are obviously not behind her yet.

They munch through the bowl of crackers and seasoned, dried mackerels and finish off the shots before Reborn orders some really complicated, highly alcoholic drinks for all of them. Yamamoto takes one sip of the vodka-mixed-with-something-orangey beverage and melts into heaven; on his left, Hibari takes a gulp of some dark, rum-like liquid and raises and eyebrow, which is as close to a drinkgasm as Hibari gets. They talk and joke and swear noisily at each other, passing around a joint (Tsuna sulks when Reborn doesn't let him smoke) before another tray of shots is ordered and the alcohol takes over. It's still relatively early in the night when Yamamoto and Hibari crash-lands into the men's restroom, which is thankfully empty, and lock themselves into one of the cramped stalls, mouths against one another's and hands wandering everywhere. Hibari growls—a deep, savage sound that makes every nerve stand on end—and sinks his teeth into Yamamoto's neck, making the taller of the two groan audibly and slide his fingers sloppily through Hibari's belt loops, desperately trying to draw him closer.

The wonderful events of the night is regretfully blurred by the sheer amount of drinks they've had and the high off the joint, but when Yamamoto wakes up with his face mashed into the carpet of Reborn's flat with zero idea how he got there, Hibari is next to him, drooling slightly into a pillow tucked under his head, and Yamamoto smiles blearily before his hand finds Hibari's, lacing their thin, guitar-toned fingers together. It takes another five hours before the hangover hits all of them (Reborn and Tsuna were crashed out half-naked in the kitchen), but it was honestly one of the best birthdays and band anniversary Yamamoto had ever experienced.

"I hate you," Hibari snarls tiredly at Reborn, clutching the cup of steaming, bitter black coffee like a lifeline. "I hate you for talking me into going to that stupid pub."

"Happy fucking birthday to you too," Reborn yawns. He drowns headache pills with a bottle of warm coke, and nearly spits it back out again. "Shit, that's nasty."

"I had a fun time," Yamamoto offers up, trying to smile through his hangover but it comes out looking like he swallowed something really sour. "Thank your friends for me."

"I hate them too," Hibari adds.

"It's Sunday," Tsuna says from the couch. "D'you guys wanna practice?"

"No," Yamamoto and Reborn snarls together, while Hibari just glares. Tsuna huffs, holding his hands up defensively.

"Geez, if I'd known that you're all the anal types when you have hangovers, I would've left the second I got up. I thought only Reborn had a bitchface."

Reborn's retort was interrupted by the shrill ring of the doorbell, which makes them all cringe horribly. When the Italian answered the door, cussing like no tomorrow, they were shocked to see who was standing awkwardly on the scuffed-up welcome mat.

"Hey," Mukuro says, uncharacteristically soft. "Uh—hangovers?"

"You," Reborn says, eyes wide. Tsuna's jaw is slightly unhinged, and Yamamoto's heart leaps hopefully. Even Hibari's reflexive "Go away, I hate you," doesn't have a drop of menace in it. Mukuro hums in acknowledgement before continuing quietly, "I'm back…if you'll still have me."

Reborn opens and closes his mouth in a momentary bout of confusion before snapping it shut and casting a look over his shoulder at the rest of the band. Yamamoto can't stop the face-splitting grin from taking over as Hibari makes a noise in the back of his throat—one part disbelieving and two parts amused. Tsuna has a smug look on his face when he says, "I think we're going to practice today after all."

Mukuro smiles too; a real, honest smile, and for some reason it makes Yamamoto think there's more good news than their drummer's letting on.

"Did something happen?" he calls out at large. "Something good we, your friendly band mates, should know about?"

Mukuro's grin grows wider. "Kufufufu…maybe," he replies.

"Say it," Reborn demands, smirking now.

Mukuro shrugs, mismatched eyes glowing. "I'd rather invite all of you."

"Where?" Tsuna asks, eyes wide.

"To my wedding, of course," Mukuro laughs. "I'm going to marry Chrome."

* * *

_Part IV End_

Thanks for taking the time to read!

-BlackStar


	5. Chapter 5

Encore

Ugh, school's starting. Better finish this series before the number of assignments I have exceeds the amount of hairs on my head. Nonetheless, thank you for taking the time to read and thanks for all the comments! ^^

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. Any similarities in events or characters living or dead are entirely coincidental.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Encore_

_Part V_

It was like a happy family reunion for the band, although in retrospect, they were more like a giant, dysfunctional, never-get-along family right before Christmas, where everybody is jammed into one house even though they don't want to be. It includes cussing and food fights and silent treatments, including the awkward cousin who still lives with their mom huddling in the corner playing online games, the busybody aunt that no one likes who asks about your boyfriend/girlfriend and the uncle that's always a little perverted. And honestly, Yamamoto won't have it any other way.

Mukuro's return fills the missing gap that they'd learned to ignore after a couple months, but never really forgot about. It was a gap that never really left them alone, and now, things are looking a little better for the band. School ploughs on like the ruthless bitch it is, never giving them a moment's rest, but as Yamamoto thinks back to the Sunday morning of their reunification, he remembers Reborn's satisfied expression as he finally picks his guitar back up, Tsuna's undisguised smile of pure glee, Hibari's grouchy, I've-got-a-fucking-migraine-so-fuck-off-now expression and Mukuro's relaxed, content look as he took a seat behind drum set and ran his fingers over the snare drum. It was almost worth the splintering headache Yamamoto endured for an hour and a half while they blasted through every single song they've ever performed. Even Reborn's hippie neighbour that likes to cuss at them for all the noise on the third floor couldn't dampen their spirits. He thinks back to the band's dream of going professional, and Yamamoto wonders if this is another chance.

They meet Chrome 'officially' about a week later, when she came to visit Mukuro. Of course, they'd all met about a year ago, but since the whole camping trip was shrouded by an intense amount of smoke and alcohol, Yamamoto supposed that this could be deemed their first proper introduction. Chrome's a petite, soft-spoken woman, all smiles and calm. She sat on an upturned crate during their practice, humming along with their songs until Tsuna invited her to sing with him. Overall, it was a descent day; everybody was on their best behaviour, even Hibari, who had nothing negative to say other than the occasional herbivore comment.

June brings about their usual stakeout at Reborn's, huddled like vultures around the laptop that casts an eerie, white glow around their exhausted, gaunt, post-exam faces. Yamamoto winds an arm around Hibari's waist and pulls the slightly disgruntled raven into his lap, angling him so they don't get ash on their jeans or Reborn's carpet. Wi-fi keeps crashing every ten minutes or so, but by the end of the night, they'd managed to apply for all their usual summer music festivals. Nothing particularly interesting happens for about another week as they wait for confirmation replies until one day, while watching a bootlegged version of American movie _Die Hard_ (Mukuro claimed it helped improve his English regardless of the vast amount of swear words and incorrect subtitles that were far more entertaining than the movie itself) did Reborn check his email again, frown, and run out of the living room. Tsuna, curious, peers over and reads the message. His jaw drops, and he began to tug insistently on Hibari's sleeve.

"What, herbivore?!" Hibari snarled, finally cracking after Tsuna started nudging him with his foot.

"We've got an invite to the _Inheritance Festival_," Tsuna stammers.

"What?"

Instantly, they were crowding around the laptop, clambering over each other to see the email. Even Yamamoto, who knew next to nothing about all these musical venues, has heard about the _IF_. It's a seasonal, invite-only musician showcase that's a hotspot for talent scouts and labels to go headhunting because the festival features a select group of relatively unknown or rising bands, singers, or entertainers. Yamamoto knew what this meant: a _chance_. The band's original dream of getting a contract could be realized this year!

Reborn came crashing back into the room at that moment, cellphone in hand and a very satisfied smirk on his face. "It's true," he confirms. "We're in!"

Tsuna screams—really screams—which ends in a fierce, hacking cough, but he's smiling nonetheless. He launches himself at Reborn, sending them flying backwards into the couch, and Mukuro laughs his weird "Kufufufufu!" at that. Yamamoto turns, beaming at Hibari, and nuzzles a kiss to his boyfriend's temple. "Congrats," he says lightly. "You guys made it!"

Hibari scoffs, but he's not actually mad. "What the hell are you talking about, herbivore? You're one of us. You made it too." And Yamamoto has never felt so damned _happy_ in his entire life just from a sentence uttered by a handsome, dark-eyed raven.

The three weeks leading up to their performance at _IF_ results in lots of fidgeting, excessive tuning, and the Reborn's rice cooker mysteriously exploding. They practice day and night and have permanently crashed out at Reborn's flat to maximize rehearsal time. Chrome enjoys dropping by every once in a while and is often kind enough to make them lunch or bring around snacks for them to enjoy. Turns out, Mukuro's gotten her a ticket for the festival, so she'll be watching them perform as well. Yamamoto smiles at that; things seem to have gotten a lot better for the couple. Chrome's starting to show, although it's mostly tactfully hidden by her long, loose-flowing dresses.

_IF_ is located an hour and a half's drive away by the harbor, and it's wonderfully decorated with flashing lights, creative sets, and in the center of it all, is an open-celling stadium, packed with people brimming with insane energy like hungry vampires on a night out in town. Yamamoto spends a good minute gawking at the sheer outcome of the festival as he leans against the side of Reborn's car, hands tight on his guitar case. He doesn't relax until Hibari comes up, kicking him in the shins with a smirk, and tells him to budge along. They're the closing performance, so there are a good couple of hours to kill before they're needed backstage. Mukuro's flounced off somewhere to meet Chrome, so they split off for dinner and drinks before their show. There's even time for a quick make-out session before they're standing at the sidelines, nerves thrumming with intensity, waiting for their turn. The second-last band exits the stage, drenched in sweat and it's their turn.

They're on.

It starts off well; the crowd warms up to them almost at once; most of their songs are originals written by either Tsuna or Reborn, and it's refreshing as well as appealing. Yamamoto looks up into the lights and hears the screaming and feels Hibari's bass rumble like a purring beast. It's something he wants to live in forever, something he realizes has turned into a dream of his too. But then, roughly an hour into the performance, suddenly and out of _nowhere_, Tsuna's voice cracks on the high note and he's grabbing at this throat, a yelp of strangled pain. He drops the microphone and the feedback is deafening. Yamamoto winces, startled. What happened?

Reborn was at Tsuna's side in an instant, wrapping his arms around Tsuna's shoulders while saying something quickly and quietly. The crowd's cheers dwindle until there is only dead silence, hundreds of eyes going wide with confusion. Mukuro stands up, exchanging a curious look with Hibari, and Yamamoto grabs the mic when Reborn starts pulling Tsuna off stage.

"Sorry about this, guys," Yamamoto says, smiling even though it's the last thing he feels like doing. "Our vocalist isn't feeling very well; give us a minute, yeah?"

The crowd is already breaking out into murmurs and whispers, and Hibari yanks at Yamamoto's sleeve as they all exit the stage, stepping over amps and trying not to trip over wires. Irie, the red-haired tech guy sitting off to the side, has run off to grab Tsuna a bottle of water while Reborn began whisper-arguing with the brunette, looking frustrated and worried at once. Tsuna had tears in his eyes, most likely from pain, but he kept shaking his head while glaring fiercely.

"What's going on?" Hibari demands, removing his guitar and shoving it back onto its stand. "What happened to you, Sawada?"

"Is it your throat infection?" Reborn asks, furious. "If it was bugging you then you shouldn't be singing! What were you thinking? Didn't the doctor say it would go away after a few weeks? Weren't you taking antibiotics for it?"

It is a sign of how worried Reborn really was because of how much talking he was doing. He is a man of few words and more swear words, and the fact that he was doing more talking than cussing spoke volumes. But Tsuna's expression looks bleak as he finally accepted the bottle Irie pushed into his palm while addressing to them at large, "I'm going to put on some generic music for the time being; try to get back on in fifteen minutes, won't you?"

"Can you still sing?" Mukuro asks, watching Tsuna gulp the water. It didn't look like it was doing him any good, though, because Tsuna kept wincing and flinching as he swallowed, followed by a raspy, awful wet cough.

"Don't force yourself if you can't," Yamamoto interjects. "There's always next time, okay?"

"There isn't," Tsuna whispers, fingers clenching around the water bottle.

"We can always find another place to perform, it's not like there aren't other venues in Japan," Reborn snaps, crossing his arms. "You need to rest, Tsuna, and don't you dare tell me otherwise. You're going to lose your voice if you don't take a break."

"I don't want to take a break! I want to sing!" Tsuna shouts, but his voice breaks off at the end and his words startle everyone.

"It's not the end of the world," Mukuro frowns, eyebrows creasing. Hibari, however, narrows his eyes at once.

"Sawada? Are you not telling us something?"

"No," Tsuna hisses, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. His makeup is a little smudged; mascara running down his cheek in a single, wet black streak, but his eyes look almost desperate, like a trapped animal. Yamamoto's worries increase.

"Tsuna, if there's something wrong, you can tell us, you know?" he says in a low voice, placing a comforting hand on Tsuna's shoulder that makes the brunette unconsciously twitch a little.

"I don't—"

"_Tsuna_," Reborn says, and there's something different in his voice that finally makes Tsuna sag visibly, shoulders hunching in and his spine deflating as though he's been holding a ton of bricks up. He crosses his arms, uncrosses them, bites his lip hard, and then clenches his hands into fists by his side before tilting his head up slightly so he could look up at all of them in the eye.

"It's not an infection," Tsuna finally admits quietly. "I have throat cancer."

The sounds of the crowd growing more and more restless is getting louder and louder, but currently, it's turning into nothing but white noise in Yamamoto's slushy mind as he slowly processes those words. It's extremely difficult, mainly because there's a voice in his head that says, _I thought it was a throat infection!_ And another that cries, _You said it was only a bug!_ And another hushed, shocked one that whispers, _Cancer?_

"What," Reborn says, almost blankly. It isn't even a question, just an empty statement.

"Cancer," Tsuna huffs, flapping his arms in a weird, contrasting way from the pained expression on his face. "It's, you know, in my throat? That's why I've been coughing like that, why it hurts for me to talk and swallow and sing—" his voice breaks off a little at that, and he scowls, hacking away into his elbow.

"What," Reborn says again.

"You said it was an infection? That you had a cold? How long have you known?" Mukuro says in a strangled sort of voice, looking twitchy. Tsuna looks sad now.

"I lied…sort of," he says softly. "I've known since I went to the doctor's in January…I just…I couldn't tell you…not with something like this coming up, I just—"

"You're losing your voice," Yamamoto interrupts suddenly. "Tsuna—can you…can you not sing anymore?"

"I can—" Tsuna says, far too quickly, but Mukuro talks over him too.

"You can't keep doing this," the drummer says fiercely. "Tsuna, you can't sing anymore."

"DON'T TELL ME THAT!" Tsuna roars suddenly, a wild, hurt expression flying across his face in an instant, and it suddenly occurs to Yamamoto that countless professionals—doctors and nurses—have probably worn that fact out over him hundreds and hundreds of times already, and to be told that you couldn't do something you loved anymore, that you would eventually let your own bandmates (_friends_) down because of this, it has got to hurt more than anything else in the word.

Reborn walks forwards and his arms are around Tsuna in an instant, hugging and pulling his boyfriend close, and Tsuna coughs and he wipes at his eyes lightly, still trying to save his makeup, but there are already a dozen black streams of tears running down his face. Reborn doesn't say anything, but the way he buries his face into Tsuna's wayward tufts of hair speaks volumes. Yamamoto looks away, not wanting to intrude, and he makes brief eye contact with Hibari and Mukuro. Mukuro looks ashen and even sorry for Tsuna, but Hibari's still as a statue. He doesn't even blink.

"Uh, Yamamoto-san?"

Yamamoto jumps a foot into the air and spins around to see Irie standing nervously behind them, pulling at the cords of his headphones, coke bottle glasses askew. "I know there's, um, something going on and I'm terribly sorry for interrupting, but you guys need to get back out there."

"In case you haven't noticed, our singer is currently out of commission," Mukuro hisses, and Irie backtracks, looking frightened, and mumbles, "I'm just passing on the message from the manager. Really, I'm sorry, and this looks very emotional and all, but refunds are not commercially viable and honest to god, I know you're in a tight spot right now but that's what the manager says, sorry," and he shimmies back behind his massive tech equipment before Mukuro can strangle him.

"Great, what now?" Mukuro hisses angrily, tapping his foot furiously on the floor. It doesn't completely mask the worried expression on his face as his eyes dart over to where Reborn is speaking to Tsuna in a low voice, something that makes Tsuna shake his head and cry even harder, but he hopes it's something that will make their friend really take a break. Tsuna can't continue to sing because if he does, even after surgery, he might not have a voice anymore.

"Alright," Hibari finally says, and Yamamoto almost laughs out loud in disbelief if it wasn't such an inappropriate thing to do. They have three thousand spectators who sounds like they're about to riot, their singer is completely grounded, emotions are wrung out everywhere and they're royally fucked if they don't get back out onto the stage in the next five seconds, and Hibari's absorbed everything, stepped right over the mountain of problems they have like it's an anthill in the garden and says, "Alright," like he's starting a seminar in class or choosing the next song for practice. Yamamoto has never loved and respected his boyfriend more than he has right now.

"Reborn, take Sawada home," Hibari says simply, and he gives Tsuna a simple, quiet look that isn't angry or annoyed or frustrated, just a quiet moment of eye contact, and Tsuna tears up again, holding onto Reborn tightly. Reborn turns to look at them, an unreadable expression on his face and asks, "You'll be alright on your own?"

"We'll be fine," Hibari replies smoothly. "Leave, now, and make sure your idiot boyfriend gets some rest."

Tsuna opens his mouth, almost as though to protest, but Reborn just nods and tugs Tsuna along, grabbing their bags and Reborn's guitar. Yamamoto watches them go, his heart hurting quietly.

"Now what?" Mukuro asks again, watching the couple as well.

"You, get on stage," Hibari says promptly.

"Me?" Mukuro asks, looking surprised. Hibari arches an eyebrow.

"Yes you, pineapple, who else? Get up there and kill ten minutes with your drumming."

"My _drumming_?" Mukuro repeats. "You want me to do a solo?"

"Yes!" Hibari snarls. "Go, now. Ten minutes. Do it before the audience starts throwing things at us."

"But we have at least forty-five minutes left," Yamamoto says urgently. "We can't continue with our schedule but we can't let the crowd flip out. We don't have a _singer_."

Hibari's eyes gleams dangerously at that. "Let's hope the one I'm about to find can take up at least half an hour then."

"Who?" Mukuro and Yamamoto ask together. Hibari shoots a glance out at the massive crowd in the stadium between the curtains, a contemplative look on his face.

"Tell me, Mukuro, which row is your fiancée sitting in?"

* * *

"Um," Chrome says softly, hands supporting the slight curve of her stomach, barely visible under her floating, smooth lime-green dress and light indigo cardigan. She looks awkwardly out of place with her summery attire paired up with Hibari's infamous jet black leather jacket with pressed pants and Yamamoto's raggedly torn jeans, his neon blue shirt and metal dog tags. They've raided Mukuro's makeup bag for some plain eyeliner, a tube of silver glitter and a hint of mascara. Yamamoto personally didn't think Chrome needed any cosmetics though; she was perfectly gorgeous enough without any of that stuff. Irie was watching them nervously as he adjusted the microphone balance from behind his load of complicated gear as Mukuro pounds away on the massive drum set, constantly changing his pace, pulling up new, wild beats. Listening to his drumming is like walking on a tightrope; one wrong step, one moment of misplaced concentration and you're falling, falling hard and fast for the whirlpool of sounds Mukuro coaxes up from his instruments using only two thin wooden sticks. It's outstanding, really.

"Um," Chrome says again.

"Everything okay?" Yamamoto asks, smiling down at her. He feels awful, really, making a pregnant woman sing for them like this, and he's honestly surprised Mukuro didn't fight Hibari's idea down, but it doesn't really look like Chrome's upset at them for asking her to sing.

"Yes," Chrome beams at him. For someone who's just been plucked out of the audience and asked to perform out of the blue, she's remarkably calm and collected. "I'm just wondering about the order of the songs? Do I have to follow your lists, or—?"

"You can sing whatever you want," Hibari says calmly. "We'll figure it out."

"Okay," Chrome says, and they fall silent as Mukuro reaches the end of his solo, and he finishes it off with a massive explosion of limbs flying all over the place, hitting anything within and out of arm's reach in under three seconds. It's fantastic showmanship.

The crowd goes insane as Mukuro gets up, sweating buckets under the blazing heat of the spotlights, and grabs a microphone, panting into it, "Kufufufu, did you guys like that?" as if the resounding screams and cheers didn't indicate anything. Hibari rolls his eyes in a rather dramatic fashion.

"So unfortunately, our singer and rhythm guitarist are currently unavailable for the rest of tonight's show due to an emergency," Mukuro continues, and a wave of disappointed _awww!_'s resound for the audience. "However, we won't leave you guys hanging, so I'd like to introduce to you our temporary vocalist, Chrome Dokuro—" Mukuro glances over to the sidelines and Yamamoto gives Chrome an encouraging nudge. Chrome walks onto the stage, blinking owlishly in the lights but she gives a small smile and a little wave. "—my fiancée, who'll be singing with us for the rest of the night. Give her some love, yeah?"

The crowd shouts and screams wildly, sounding more shocked that Mukuro has a fiancée more than anything else, but Chrome smiles softly again, and it's _impossible_ not to like her, really, she has that kind of an effect on people. There is nothing about Chrome Dokuro that is remotely un-likeable.

"Hello," Chrome says, taking the mic from Mukuro as Yamamoto and Hibari walk back onstage. "Ano, I'm so happy that Mukuro and his friends have your support. Their music is truly an important part of their lives and to see so many of you guys here is a great inspiration for them, I know it." She turns and gives them a soft smile before taking a breath and begins humming a melody into the microphone. Hibari catches on at once, and he follows up with his bass, a low, steady thrum in the heat of the stadium, and when Chrome begins to sing, her voice is crystal clear, sailing over the shifting crowd, higher than Tsuna's, but similar to the smooth, unblemished quality their brunette vocalist is famous for.

It's a good thing Chrome actually can sing—like Gokudera, she plays the piano as well—but she isn't a trained vocalist like Tsuna is. Also, she's pregnant as well, and Yamamoto's surprised she lasts nearly twenty-five minutes into the performance. By the time they finally fall back into the swing of things, Chrome is exhausted, and Mukuro's giving Hibari looks, indicating that he wants her out. Hibari isn't a heartless bastard with woman, mostly, so at the end of the song he walks up and touches Chrome's shoulder, nodding at her. Chrome glances back, looking like she wants to insist she's alright, but Mukuro walks up and he gathers her into his arms, giving her a light kiss on the forehead, and as the crowd goes crazy, Chrome bids them all a goodnight and Mukuro walks her offstage, their hands entwined. Yamamoto and Hibari follow, throats parched and shoulders stiff from standing.

"How much time do we have left over?" Hibari demands, grabbing Irie's arm. The poor kid looks like he's going to piss himself.

"I—ten minutes. After that it'll just be the closing remarks. You guys can kill ten minutes again, right?" He looks more desperate than they do, Yamamoto thinks.

"Well, we're not going to have the pineapple do a drum solo again, the crowds won't accept that," Hibari snaps, crossing his arms irritably. "We're out of options, unless you go out and sing for us too."

Irie turns a sickly shade of green that clashes horribly with his hair, and suddenly, Yamamoto has a stroke of genius right then and there.

"Hibari, we can do your songs."

Hibari whirls around, dark eyes instantly in denial, and he hisses, "No. No. We are not performing those, Yamamoto Takeshi. You are out of your mind."

"It's ten minutes," Yamamoto argues back. "That's only five songs, tops. You can do it. Your songs are great. It's a perfect closing. C'mon, Hibari, we have nothing left!"

Hibari scowls angrily, but he can clearly see that he has no choice. Irie is watching them nervously, eye twitching as Yamamoto holds a stare down with his boyfriend. Finally, after a tense thirty seconds, Mukuro barrels back in, saying, "What now?", and the moment breaks. Hibari moves, pushing his bass aside as he stalks over to their bags and starts rummaging through his satchel for his notebook.

"We're improvising, pineapple," he growls, flipping through the well-worn pages in record speed. He eyes Yamamoto peevishly before saying, "You know them best. If Mukuro can't keep up with the drum parts, you're going to cover it completely with your melody line, you hear? If I'm going to sing this shit it's going to be fucking awesome, or _else_."

It's always nice to hear a threat from Hibari, because that usually indicates that he knows what he's doing. Yamamoto's heart swells in relief as he nods, taking the notebook from his boyfriend as he walked back together onstage. The audience shrieks and screams, clapping for the last round of performances before they call it a night. Hibari adjusts the microphone and gives it an experimental tap as Mukuro gives Yamamoto extremely confused looks. Yamamoto shrugs helplessly and smiles. Improvisation always gives him a wonderful boost of adrenaline, the same way preparing for a home run and seeing Hibari's sharp-toothed smirks do.

"So," Hibari says, taking the microphone, and the crowd goes almost-silent. Hibari's infamous for refusing to talk, no matter what the circumstances, and his low, baritone-like voice seems to have cast some kind of spell over the audience. It doesn't matter that this is the first time they've ever had such a huge turnout, and it doesn't matter that Hibari's never sung to a single person in his life, let along three thousand, because right now, he looks like he can do _anything_.

"I don't sing." Hibari continues bluntly. "And according to a certain someone I have singing skills limited to a karaoke bar."

Yamamoto ducks his head, trying to hide the obvious grin stretching across his face. Hibari humors him with a sidelong glare.

"But these are my songs, and I'm going to start off with _Yellow Bird_."

He glances over at Yamamoto again, and that's the cue; Yamamoto strums his fingers over his guitar, a smooth, unbroken sound, and Hibari starts to sing. His voice is low, deeper than Tsuna's, a little raspy from lack of practice and rough around the edges, but there's a velvet-like texture to it that strokes over Yamamoto's nerves, light and free, like a single cloud on the horizon. The crowd is hushed, silent as Hibari's voice echoes around the stadium, deep and unrelenting. Mukuro doesn't do much save for the occasional beat, but he's listening intently too, the same way Yamamoto is. Hibari's fingers roll over the strings of his bass, charming deep, heart-throbbing sounds from it. It's nearly hypnotic, and before Yamamoto realizes, they've moved from one song to the next and then Hibari pauses, frowning a little before he waits for the audience's applause to die out before launching into the last song of the night.

"Thank you for your patience tonight," he says a little stiffly into the microphone. "I've never been a patient man; only herbivores waste time with their doings. This last piece has wasted a lot of my time, I think, but it's not something I'm going to forget. This is _Rocking Horse_."

Yamamoto's eyes go up. He doesn't know this song very well since it is the most illegible work in the notebook, scrawled over with graphite over and over again, but Hibari seems to know exactly what he's doing, and he plays, and Yamamoto follows, stumbling a little over his chords, and Mukuro backs them up. The song is slow, moody, a little sad, and hits home with all their current emotions.

"_Let me tell you a story  
A child's story to tell  
There were once two parts of a whole  
Until one of them fell  
Search and search until you see the end  
But find only broken hearts you cannot mend  
A child's story goes on and on  
Back and forth and back and forth  
Lost like a lonely rocking horse"_

There's an expression on Hibari's face that Yamamoto's never seen before, but his voice doesn't break. The raven's fingers stroke soothingly over and over, drawing out the lonely, eerie drone of his bassline. Yamamoto, like the rest of the audience, is so sucked into the waves of sounds that he doesn't even know the song's done until Hibari looks up, somewhere above the audience, and he says quietly, "Goodnight," and the show's over. The entire band is already halfway across the stage before the crowd finally breaks free of the spell cast over them, and the applause is near-deafening.

But Yamamoto doesn't hear it. There's something burning in his heart right now, and everything is just falling in around him. He's so fucking exhausted right now, physically and emotionally. Irie comes up to them, pushing water bottles into their hands and bowing repeatedly. Yamamoto gives him a mechanical smile, and he lowers himself onto the dusty, cool metal ground of the backstage. He thinks back to Tsuna, and Reborn, and then Hibari's song, and for some reason, it dawns on him that it might have something to do with the person Hibari had hinted about before, when Yamamoto once asked him if he dated. He's light headed and hungry, but he doesn't even have the energy to wish for food or sleep.

Instead, Yamamoto sits on the ground and he cries. He cries about the unfairness of it all, the feeling of discovering something grim, the hurt and fear for a good friend. All the delayed emotions are welling up to the surface and it's impossible to convey any of these feelings properly through the tears running uncontrollably down his face, but when Hibari walks up behind him and takes a seat as well, slipping his thin, cold hand into Yamamoto's, he thinks that Hibari might, might understand.

* * *

_Part V End_

Thanks for reading! And happy school days to come, ugh.

-BlackStar


	6. Chapter 6

Encore

You have no idea how sorry I am for not updating for such a long time. School has worn me out completely, physically and emotionally. So, I channeled a bit of my frustration with all the shit in life for this chapter. I think we can all remember one of those crappy days in our lives the same way Yama and Hibari and the crew are feeling in this story. It's tough, isn't it? In any case, thank you for reading and reviewing and for your patience with me, as always.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. Any similarities in events or characters living or dead are entirely coincidental.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Encore_

_Part VI_

The world has made a mistake, so Yamamoto gets up at eight in the morning on the Saturday a week after the _Inheritance Festival_ and hits the batting cages. He needed to take a bus out and change stops twice, but an hour and a half later he's at a little town just off the highway where he sees kids playing in the yard and people milling about sleepily on the weekend morning. The batting cages had just opened, and after paying his fees, Yamamoto ducks into the wire-mesh covered area, his old bat in hand, nostalgic over the familiar weight and feel of it. The first hit is great. The second is even better. Two hours and 2300¥ later, Yamamoto's sweating like a pig and his swings have gotten a little wilder, a little more desperate. It's horrible form and he feels like an utter disgrace to the sport he was once amazing at, but the world has made a mistake, so Yamamoto can't give a rat's ass about a thing right now. All he hears is the rush of blood in his ears, the feel of sweat running down his temple, and the ache in his chest that he doesn't want to acknowledge. Emotions are such a tiring thing.

"You should take a break to the extreme."

Yamamoto jumps, not expecting a voice behind him, and he turns around to see another guy standing outside of the cage behind him, wearing a heavy sweater and a pair of jogging pants. He's got strange, silvery white hair, a scar in his temple, strong, green-tinted eyes and a bottle of some high-priced energy drink in his hand, which he extends to Yamamoto. Yamamoto stares at him, momentarily thrown off. The silver haired guy nods to the bottle.

"Go on. You deserve it. You've been here for almost two hours."

"You were watching me?" Yamamoto asks, eyes narrowing a little as he walks out of the batting cage, hesitant to accept the drink. The other guy just shrugged.

"I was here before you were. I was batting for about an hour, but I took a break. You haven't stopped since you got here."

"I haven't batted in a while," Yamamoto replies slowly, wiping his face with his towel. The guy smiles.

"I don't doubt that. You've got great form to the extreme, but you're way off your game. You don't even look like you're trying anymore."

"Maybe I'm not," Yamamoto challenged, tossing his towel aside.

"Maybe you're not," the guy agreed. There was a pause. "You know, I didn't get this for my own benefit. You really don't look good."

Finally, Yamamoto takes the drink, inclining his head to the other man. "Thanks, uh—" he stammers, not knowing the guy's name. The other grins.

"Sasagawa. You can call me Ryohei."

"Thank you, Ryohei," Yamamoto says, and there's something oddly familiar about the name. "Uh, I'm Yamamoto. Yamamoto Takeshi."

"Nice to meet you to the extreme," Ryohei says seriously, and they shake hands.

"So, what brings you here?" Yamamoto asks, cracking open the cap and taking a sip of the drink. It's apple and pomegranate, which tastes like hell, but he's not complaining. Ryohei grins good-naturally. "I thought I'd give baseball a try. It's harder than it looks though."

Yamamoto hums in agreement. "I used to run track and gave swimming a little bit of time. Have you played other sports?"

For a moment, something stiff and hollow flits across Ryohei's face, and then everything smooths over neatly, like a mask. If Yamamoto wasn't so used to wearing one himself after all the bullshit he's gone through this summer, he probably wouldn't have caught it. He takes another sip while Ryohei shrugs again.

"I used to box. I was a boxer."

"That's cool," Yamamoto replies, unable to think of any other way to answer.

"It was. Great workout. How long have you played baseball?"

"Since I was in 7th grade," Yamamoto muses, remembering trying out at his middle school for the first time ever. "It was amazing. Aside from guitar, it's the only hobby I've ever invested all my time in."

"You sound dedicated." There's an interested eyebrow raise.

"It was fun, and something for my hyperactive teenage self to indulge in."

"That's how I found boxing too," Ryohei reminisces, tucking his hands into his sweater pocket. "I used to box in high school, and by the time I graduated, I was team captain, and undefeated. It felt good to be me back then."

There's something in his voice again, so Yamamoto just nods and finishes the last of his drink. He tosses the bottle out, and glances towards the batting cages again before looking over at Ryohei. "You up for a two-player game?"

Ryohei looks surprised, but interested. "That sounds pretty awesome to the extreme. We'll split the cost later then?"

"Sure," Yamamoto grins in reply, picking up his bat. "But I'm not going to go easy on you just because you brought me a drink. Oh, wait, god, that sounded like a horrible pick up line, shit."

Ryohei laughs, loud and bold, and it echoes around the mostly empty sports stadium. Yamamoto can actually imagine him as a pot-bellied grandpa reclining in an overstuffed armchair. "S'okay. But I'm going to have to decline, I think. My girlfriend wouldn't be very pleased."

"Girlfriend?" Yamamoto grins, glad that he didn't make things awkward. "What's her name?"

"Hana," Ryohei says with a slightly dreamy smile. "She's beautiful to the extreme."

"I've got a boyfriend," Yamamoto replies, pressing the start button on the control panel as he swings his bat in his hand with practiced ease. "If he ever heard me calling him beautiful he'd sock me in the face."

Ryohei laughed again, but it was cut short as a baseball came hurtling towards him. He swung, and the bat cracked against the ball like a clap of thunder, echoing around the high-ceilinged stadium. Yamamoto steps up to take his place, and his hit rings out loud and clear, sailing even further than Ryohei's.

"Damn it, you bastard, this isn't over yet," Ryohei smirks, lining up for his next hit. He's good, Yamamoto realizes, not in the way that he's good at baseball specifically like Yamamoto is, but good as in an athlete who's got the right build and the right mindset and doesn't mind picking anything up for a go. He wonders about the guy's boxing career, and why it laid in the past now. Then he thinks about _careers_ in general, and inevitably, his mind wanders back to Tsuna, their dream to go professional, and his next hit goes haywire.

"That's not your best, man; give it all you've got to the extreme!" Ryohei bellows, smashing his bat into another ball. "If you're here to work off stress you might as well make it count!"

"Yeah, yeah!" Yamamoto hollers back, winding his arm up before swinging all out. His next shot clears the net and collides into the wall behind it with a resounding _bang_. Ryohei whistles and pretends to stand on his toes to see.

"That was some hit."

"I've got a lot of stress."

Ryohei casts him another sidelong glare as the pitching machine works up again, grinning wryly. "I can see that."

They bat for another hour, perhaps, barely taking a break. Ryohei's good company, so Yamamoto doesn't think much of it as they head out to a bakery across the street to grab lunch afterwards, board the same bus together and finally get off at the stop right at the edge of Yamamoto's university boundaries. It's already past noon.

"Well, I'll be off then," Ryohei says, and he's turning towards the dorms behind the philosophy department when it hits Yamamoto like a freight train: the reason why the name Sasagawa Ryohei sounded so familiar, why he wasn't surprised that Yamamoto was gay, why he seemed to tune in to the fact that Yamamoto was stressed off his socks and wasn't just a wasted shot at the batting cages—

"You're Sasawaga Ryohei," Yamamoto blurts out. "The guy Mukuro used to buy cocaine from."

Ryohei stops at the edge of the path, and his eyebrows go up a little. "I am."

Yamamoto swallows. "You—you knew who I was when you saw me in the stadium."

Ryohei shrugs again. It seemed to be a habitual thing. "I saw you leaving Mukuro's dorm a year ago. A couple of days after that, he told me he wasn't getting any more off me. He rarely used the stuff anyway. But I noticed that he'd been depressed for a couple of weeks, but after you visited him he seemed a little less strung out. So I asked him who you were, and he just said, 'The guitarist in my band. He's naïve about shit but his stupid optimism is contagious.' I saw one of your concerts. You're good."

"Thanks," Yamamoto says, rubbing the back of his neck, unsure of what to say. Fortunately, Ryohei talked for him.

"You know how I said I used to box?"

Yamamoto nods slowly, shifting his bag on his shoulder. Ryohei fixes him with a thoughtful look.

"When I used to box, I did cocaine as well. It was so easy to get hooked onto, and in my life at that moment, there were two things that really mattered to me: sports and drugs. It was so easy to let loose with those things, and I lost distinction between _boxing_ and _fighting_. So one day, while I was high, I started a fight with another guy on campus. I don't remember most of it other than the fact the guy I fought was hospitalized afterwards because of how badly I'd hit him. And it made me feel like utter shit, because I used my boxing skills to hurt somebody. The sport I respected so much wasn't safe with me, you get what I mean?"

Yamamoto swallows, and nods. It would be like taking his baseball bat and bashing someone's head in. It wasn't right. Ryohei exhales firmly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I couldn't stand boxing anymore, and I couldn't stand drugs either. I went into rehab. I've been clean for a year now, starting a couple of months after you visited Mukuro. But the last year was the shittiest year of my life, without a doubt. It felt like the whole world had just made one giant mistake. And that look on your face while you were batting—it was just like mine, a year ago."

"It's—it's been tough," Yamamoto croaks, tightening his hands into fists. Ryohei nods.

"I heard about Reborn's boyfriend, your singer. I'm sorry about him. But you gotta tough it out to the extreme, you hear? Sawada's a stubborn little fellow. Back him up however you can."

"I—we will," Yamamoto amends. "There's no band without Tsuna anyway."

Ryohei laughs. "Well, pass on my regards. I hope he gets better soon."

"Thanks. I will. And, uh, thanks for the drink." Yamamoto's not, perhaps, _literally_ talking about the drink, and he's a little embarrassed to openly acknowledge Ryohei's encouraging words, because really, what do you say to a guy who'd just spilled his story on drug abuse and aggravated assault to you? But Ryohei simply inclines his head and says, "Anytime, Yamamoto." And he's gone, trudging up to his dorms, whistling a cheerful tune.

Yamamoto watches him go for a while, thinking over the entire day, before hefting up his gym bag and hurrying down the path to his own room.

* * *

"Go away, herbivore, I'm busy," are Hibari's words as he attempts to close the door on Yamamoto's face the day after. It's Sunday, and it's raining hard outside. Yamamoto's drenched from head to toe after running across campus to get to Hibari's dorm.

"What on earth can you possibly be busy with?" Yamamoto demands, and sticks his foot in the doorway to prevent Hibari from closing the door all the way. "It's the middle of summer, there's nothing going on at school."

"Well, unlike some morons here, I've taken summer classes," Hibari snarls, glaring at Yamamoto with laser beam eyes. "I have two literary essays and a seminar to prepare by Wednesday and you are not going to distract me with your stupid visits." He looks ragged and sleepless—the normally well-dressed raven was wearing a pair of dark pajama bottoms and an old t-shirt. The bags under his eyes have gone from sagging skin to lumps.

"You ought to sleep more," Yamamoto says, and it's clearly not the smart thing to say, because Hibari swears at him and slams the door on his foot.

"Ow! Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, won't you just let me in? I promise I'll just sit really quietly on your bed and keep my mouth shut."

Hibari narrows his eyes at Yamamoto, doubtful, but there's a puddle gathering under Yamamoto's feet from his wet clothes so eventually the raven disappears back into his dorm, leaving the door open. It's the closest thing to an invitation.

"Thanks, Hibari," Yamamoto calls, ducking into the room. Hibari doesn't answer because he's vanished into the bathroom, banging around irritably and noisily. Yamamoto huddles over by the desk, trying to look as unnoticeable as possible. The surface of the workspace is crowded with papers, reference books, dictionaries and empty packages of salted pretzels. The sleek laptop is running loudly, several documents open along with a music player. Yamamoto spies an Italian grammar book and two Level 4 Korean language workbooks. He runs a hand over the smooth, glossy, and well-cared for surfaces, wondering why Hibari was studying Italian and Korean.

"Paws off my things, idiot," Hibari snaps, walking back in. He tosses a towel over, and Yamamoto catches it, drying off at once. Grinning widely, he leans over and drops a noisy kiss on his boyfriend's cheek. "Thanks, Kyoya."

"Sit down and don't be noisy," Hibari snips, but he's not glowering, so Yamamoto takes that as a good sign. However, after fifteen minutes, he's bored out of his mind already, and Hibari is so immersed in his work with his headphones in he doesn't even hear Yamamoto drumming out parts from Mukuro's drumming on the headboard with one of the pencils. He takes a nap for half an hour, doodles absentmindedly on a scrap piece of paper after he wakes up, and then wanders around the dorm, cleaning up Hibari's nest of school things before the raven finally shuts his laptop and spins around on his chair, glaring.

"You know, I almost miss the days where you used to chew my pencils when you had something on your mind."

"What?" Yamamoto asks intelligently, halfway through sorting out Hibari's laundry. The raven gives a magnificent eye roll and yanks his sweater out of Yamamoto's grasp, tossing it aside.

"When you're thinking too much with that herbivore brain of yours, you do repetitive things, like tapping, vandalizing, or cleaning. And almost inevitably, it's always at my place."

"Sorry," Yamamoto says sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. His hair has dried and there are a mess of cowlicks everywhere. "I didn't even notice."

Hibari huffs, crossing his arms as he stared out the window, watching the rain fall against it. "You're worried for Sawada, the same way you worried for Mukuro. Except this time, you can't fix Sawada's throat with a stupid pep talk so you're frustrated and twitchy. I'll tell you right now, Yamamoto Takeshi, there's nothing you can do about it. Don't deny it," he adds before Yamamoto can interrupt. "You know it. You know you can't help this time. That's why you're here nosing through my things instead of hanging out with the herbivore."

There's actually nothing Yamamoto can say to rebuke that. Alternately, though, he doesn't want to admit that Hibari knows him that well.

"I don't need to hold Tsuna's hand over this," he says, frowning. "I'm worried, yeah, but it's not like I'm freaking out over it night and day. I came over to see you."

Hibari raises an eyebrow. "You should not place so much investment in me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Yamamoto asks, a tad bit sharp, because there's something unsettling about those words. It almost as though Hibari was predicting the taboo of all relationships—perhaps that they wouldn't last.

"Things change," the raven said simply, shrugging a shoulder. His eyes are darker than usual as he glares at Yamamoto. "You have to be prepared for that, just in case."

"I don't want to think about that right now," Yamamoto replies harshly, and suddenly he's standing, leaning right over Hibari, crowding him against the chair. "I really, _really_, don't want to think about being anywhere without you right now."

"Feelings like that could end you," Hibari sneers, and he's right, emotional attachment can destroy a person, but Yamamoto's tough. He can take it when it comes, but it won't be today. "Not today," he says out loud, and Hibari growls fiercely as he surges up and mashes his mouth against Yamamoto's, warm and soft and angry all at once. Yamamoto wraps his arms around Hibari's middle and bodily yanks him out of the chair, tripping on the discarded sweater on the flood. They stumble gracelessly onto the bed, twisting and writhing against each other because now that Yamamoto thinks about it, it could easily have been him and Hibari faced against something that could ruin their lives. Like Tsuna and Reborn. Like Mukuro and Chrome. Honestly, Yamamoto's a little afraid to find out.

"Keep your fucking eyes on me," Hibari snarls, grabbing Yamamoto's face hard with both hands when his mind wanders. It's a jerk back to reality, almost. "You said we're good for today, so don't you _dare_ take your eyes off me."

"Never," Yamamoto says, his voice breaking at the end as he drags Hibari impossibly closer, melting into a mess. He's still tired and he still thinks the world's made a mistake, so he doesn't want to let go. "Never," he says again, firmer this time. Hibari leans back slightly so that he could look right into Yamamoto's eyes.

"Good," he whispers, and it's so low Yamamoto almost misses it. But, he doesn't, because it's the silver lining he's been looking for in this bitter, miserable phase of his life.

* * *

_Part VI End_

* * *

Thanks for taking the time to read! I can't guarantee a quick update next time, so please bear with me. I promise I'll work extra hard on the next chapter :'3 Sorry I floated a bit in this chapter, gah, but the plot shall move on soon. Also, if you don't remember Ryohei being mentioned before, check Chapter 3, heh heh.

-BlackStar


	7. Chapter 7

Encore 7

Notes: I may have lied. I was supposed to be studying for exams but this story won't leave me alone. Gahh. Sorry it's been so long since I updated. Here's Chapter Seven! Thank you for reading.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. Any similarities in events or characters living or dead are entirely coincidental.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Encore_

_Part VII_

The remainder of the summer dragged by painfully slowly and almost comically eventless. Hibari continued to go to his classes, Mukuro stayed with Chrome, and Yamamoto— he visited his father. He played with his neighbour's kids, Lambo and Ipin, and went batting at the ball park at his old high school. He took the train home and stared at the tacky fabric of the empty seat across from him, and the found himself staring at the blotchy ceiling of his dorm long into the evening, course selection sheets scattered around him and a pencil lolling aimlessly on his flat stomach. Occasionally he went jogging, relishing in the burn of the muscles and the mindless one-two pace of his run. Then, three weeks before school starts, he went to visit Reborn.

Reborn is unshakeable. He's the backbone of the band, the unofficial leader, and their confident friend. Yamamoto's only seen him in two bar fights before, because Reborn's too classy to brawl with intoxicated people, but the man can nonetheless hold his ground. But now, Yamamoto had never seen the man look so tired before. Granted, Reborn's appearance of 'tired' only involved a tighter line around his mouth, a harder look in his eyes, and a bit more stiffness in his step. He didn't say anything to Yamamoto when he let him in, and now they sat quietly in the cramped space of Reborn's living room, both nursing a cup of black coffee in chipped mugs. There's a dancing pineapple on the side of Yamamoto's.

There is silence, but it is not awkward. Rather, it is an understanding kind of moment, where words are not strictly necessary needed for Yamamoto to define his visit. It's a reassuring feeling, because Yamamoto had a feeling that if he started talking he'd start babbling, and that's never a good thing. After a moment, Reborn cleared his throat.

"Tsuna's gone back home for a bit," he murmurs in his low, gravelly voice. "Rightly so."

"Will he be back by the time school starts?" Yamamoto asks, taking a sip. Reborn shrugs.

"I don't know. He wants to come back, but his mother obviously doesn't want him to. He might come back after a semester, or not at all." Reborn runs a finger through his spikey hair, exhaling slowly. "Well, one thing's for sure. He won't be singing for a while."

Yamamoto didn't answer. He knew what Reborn is trying to tell him— the band may be as good as done. None of them wanted to continue without their singer. It seems like a childish way of thinking, but Yamamoto has long realized that none of them performed because they wanted to be famous anymore. They did it for the hell of it, for the fun of it; a group of drunken college kids making a few extra bucks at the campus pub and going on camping trips with a bunch of other smashed young adults. Now everything felt like a faraway dream; a distant memory. Yamamoto hadn't touched his guitar in a month. It didn't feel right to.

"How are you feeling?" he asks instead, staring down into his cup. In the corner of his eye, he could see Reborn sigh minutely and glare into his drink as well.

"I don't know," Reborn replies quietly. "What am I supposed to feel?"

Yamamoto sits back, feeling years older. "I don't know either," he admitted. "…I don't know at _all_."

Reborn gave him a curious, sideways glance before reaching over to grab a flask on the coffee table. "Fancy a shot?" he offers, holding up what turned out to be a bottle of rum. Yamamoto blinks, and then handed his mug over to accept what felt like a long-delayed drink of alcohol.

But even the warm burn of liquor couldn't quench the cold spot constantly sitting at the bottom of his stomach anymore.

* * *

_Knock, knock_.

Yamamoto sat up, his book falling off his stomach and onto the floor. It was evening already, and the warm summer air was drifting silently through the open window. Curious, Yamamoto pushed a couple of sweaters and his bag out of the way as he got up to answer his door.

Hibari is standing in the narrow hallway of the dorms, wearing one of Yamamoto's baggy sweaters despite the late August temperature, glaring at the threshold like it had personally offended him. He looks up when Yamamoto stares in silent surprise.

"I finished my exams this afternoon," Hibari clarifies, crossing his arms. "I'm going downtown for a drink."

Yamamoto smiles faintly, already reaching for his jacket. "Congratulations. How did it go?"

"A herbivore could have done it in his sleep," Hibari snorts condescendingly, walking down the hall. Yamamoto follows, locking his door behind him as he falls into step with his boyfriend. They exit the dorms, cuts across the campus, and catch the 6:30 bus to the city centre. Yamamoto leans back into the orange plastic seats, listening to it creak. "What bar do you have in mind?" he asks after a moment of silence. The bus is mostly empty except for an old granny reading some German book, an art student doodling in her notebook, and a business man snoring away at the front of the bus.

"Shimon's," Hibari mutters. "Next to the printing shop."

"A good choice," Yamamoto agrees. It's a busy place on a good night, but not awfully tacky. Mostly, there were a lot of people so most bar-hoppers don't usually question one's interest in drink. Hibari lifted a bored shoulder, glaring out the window. Yamamoto sighs a little and smiles, sneaking a hand over to lace his fingers with the raven's.

"We're supposed to be celebrating," he said softly. "No need to look so angry."

"Shut up," Hibari replies, but it was without heat. The fact that he didn't yank his hand away was a good sign, Yamamoto supposes.

They arrive about twenty minutes later, and Shimon's is already packed with people. Some overplayed pop song is blaring out of the speakers and bodies are pressed tightly together on the small dance floor. They squeeze into an empty spot by the counter and Yamamoto motions to a tall, cool looking woman with frightfully large breasts. She walks over, polishing a glass with a bored expression on her face.

"What'll it be?" she barks over the noise.

"Two beers," Yamamoto calls back, and she vanishes before reappearing moments later with two tinted bottles. Hibari and Yamamoto both drink, the noise of the bar fading slightly into the background. Neither of them speak for a while, at least until a few more beers loosen their tongues.

"What now?" Yamamoto asks, rolling the bottle between his fingers.

"Now nothing," Hibari scowls.

"I still wish there's something I could do for Tsuna," Yamamoto sighs, letting his head droop a little. "Somehow, texting really just doesn't cover anything."

"You know," Hibari cuts in, glowering at the scratched-up surface of the bar, "I think Sawada had rather you not mess with yourself like this. It'll only make him feel worse knowing how you're reacting to all this. He's counting on you to have faith in him, you know. Stop hoping for the impossible. There's nothing you can do other than carry on. He's doing it, Reborn's doing it, and the pineapple is too, as am I. Don't think for a moment that we're not worried; we just have to accept the general happening of things and get on with it. There's no fucking use just standing still, herbivore." With that, the raven finishes off the remainder of his beer with an extra-large gulp and slams it on the counter before signaling for one more. Yamamoto sits, momentarily thrown off.

"Wow," he managed after a moment. "That was deep."

Hibari glares. "Just because I enjoy beating up the weak does not mean I cannot sympathize with them, you fool."

Yamamoto can't help it— he snorts out a laugh and accidentally dribbles a bit of beer down his chin.

"That's disgusting," Hibari hisses, pushing him good-naturally. "Wipe it up, you uncultured idiot!"

"I am, I am," Yamamoto laughs, grabbing a napkin. "Give me a sec—"

"Uhm, excuse me?"

A voice speaks up from directly behind Yamamoto's shoulder, and both he and Hibari look up. It's a man, dressed in a pressed suit with hipster glasses that hang too largely off his face, and he's staring at the two of them. He doesn't look much older than they do, give five years. His ears are humongous.

"Hi, hello there," the man grins widely now that he's caught both their attention. "Forgive me if I'm wrong, but you are Hibari Kyoya, are you not? And you're Yamamoto Takeshi?"

"Yes, we are," Yamamoto says slowly, wiping distractedly at his shirt. "Who are you again, mister—?"

"Kawamura, Taka Kawamura," the man replies quickly, and produces two glossy business cards. Yamamoto takes one and turns it over while Hibari glares the strange man down until he retracts it with a hasty chuckle that sounds awkwardly forced. In thick, inked characters, it spells out Kawamura's name, and underneath it, _talent scout_.

"You're a talent scout," Yamamoto says aloud, and Kawamura's already wide smile widens.

"I am! I am. And you two are the wonderfully talented gentlemen who performed at the Inheritance Festival. It was quite the show you put on, I must say. Amazing work indeed. I'm so honoured to meet you."

"Uh, thank you," Yamamoto quips, tucking the card into his jacket.

"Now, as you gentlemen may have guessed already, I'm here with a proposition." Kawamura smiles blindingly, squeezing himself into the space between them. Hibari's expression darkens a shade more, and Yamamoto shoots him a pacifying look. Kawamura may be annoying, but a bar fight solves nothing.

"Your performance at the IF was nothing short of stunning. It's so easy to find a slapdash band nowadays, with teenagers buying musical instruments like they're toys. But the both of you have a _feel_ for the music, I can tell! I was astounded by the level of skill you gentlemen had and the sounds that came from your songs. It was fantastic! I personally feel that this kind of talent shouldn't be hidden away, oh no. What the world needs is performers like you. Musicians with your talents. Classy, handsome men like you two, no?"

"Uh," Yamamoto says, for lack of a better reply. Hibari doesn't look like he's talking anytime soon, and if he is, it would most likely involve a lot of swearing.

"Here's my proposition, then," Kawamura says smartly, flipping open a notepad. "The company I work for is a wonderful company. It specializes in doing start-ups for young performers like the two of you and we do all the promotion, planning, organizing. Venues, transportation, recordings, all that jazz! All you gentlemen need to do is write your songs, play your guitars, and that's _it_." Kawamura grins toothily, twirling his pen between his fingers. "Doesn't that sound swell?"

Yamamoto opens his mouth, unsure of what to say, but was cut off by Hibari's next words.

"You do know what we perform with a group, don't you?" the raven asks sharply, eyes hard. Kawamura slips up a little, staring at Hibari.

"Well, yes, I was aware that you performed with a drummer and a singer—"

"We have a rhythm guitarist too, you know," Hibari interrupts dryly.

"Yes! And a rhythm guitarist!" Kawamura tacks on, pushing his glasses up. "But I also noticed that they didn't finish the performance. That, in the world of performance, isn't usually what we, ah, look for in a musician."

"Hey now," Yamamoto starts irritably, but Hibari slices in again.

"Our drummer did a ten minute solo. Did you not hear that? Or were you going a little deaf in the ear?"

Kawamura waves an airy hand, eyebrows scrunching. "Solos anybody can do. Ten minutes of it was interesting, but not exactly our company's cup of tea, you know? We're looking for innovation, talent, specialties! You gentlemen fit right in. Besides, he's going to be married, is he not? Married men at such a young age are so…well, you know. Things like that don't look so good in the media." Kawamura laughs and flips his notebook shut before turning to face the two of them with a frank stare. Yamamoto feels his temper rising slowly. This man was honestly starting to get on his nerves.

"Look here, gentlemen. You have the talents. I'm offering you an opening. We could do great business together, and our company would be more than willing to sponsor young musicians like you two. It's the opportunity of a lifetime! Grasp it before it's too late!"

"No, thank you," Yamamoto grits out, reaching into his pocket to slap a couple of bills onto the counter. "We perform as a band."

"Now, now, look here," Kawamura says, frowning. "You mustn't let yourself be held down by sentimental like friendships and friendship pacts, and things like that! Your future could be so much more than a singer and guitarist who walk off the stage in the middle of the performance!"

"Fuck you," Hibari snarls, and his voice is nearly shredded with cold rage. "I'm not interested in the future, herbivore. It's all about the fucking _present_. Our singer is the best there is. We perform with nobody else."

"Be reasonable, now," Kawamura sighs, looking pacifyingly at the raven. Yamamoto scowls and stands up, pushing his barstool back. Hibari mimics him, anger radiating off him in waves.

"Look, Mister Kawamura, we appreciate the offer," Yamamoto says tightly. "But we're not interested. Also, our singer and guitarist are dedicated members of the band, and our drummer is our anchor. They're all equally important to our sound and music. At this time our singer is ill, so we'd really appreciate it if you kept your comments about him to yourself. C'mon, Hibari."

The raven practically tramples through the crowd as shoves his way towards the door, Yamamoto following close behind. Just as they neared the exit, Kawamura suddenly calls out to them, a somewhat last ditch-effort tinged with a little irritation at being so blatantly brushed off.

"If you singer's ill, then why stay with him? You'll only drag yourself down with that kind of liability!"

There was a moment when an angry demon inside himself roars with rage at the man's words, but then something hard rams into Yamamoto's chest and forces him backwards. It takes a moment for him to realize that the force is Hibari, and Hibari is storming towards Kawamura, and that is not good, Yamamoto realizes. That is _so_ not good.

Hibari cranks his arm back as Yamamoto shouts his name, and punches Kawamura in the face.

The talent scout lets out a ridiculously high-pitched screech before Hibari grabs him by the collar of his shirt and throws the man bodily into a crowd of people. The partygoers shout in surprise and a couple of people start chanting, "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

"Hibari!" Yamamoto roars, pushing people out of his way as he grabs his boyfriend and drags him away from the terrified scout, only to get an elbow to the face. Rearing back with blood running out of his nose, Yamamoto bravely forces his way forwards into the little circle that has formed around Hibari and Kawamura and drags his boyfriend back once more.

"Hibari! Stop, Hibari! Kyoya!"

"Fucking herbivore!" Hibari bellows, struggling angrily in Yamamoto's grip. "Let go of me! I'll destroy him! I'll kill him for saying something like that about Tsuna!"

"ENOUGH!" Yamamoto thunders and it's enough to make Hibari freeze a little in his hold. Around them, people have stopped shouting to, and are staring.

"Enough," Yamamoto repeats quietly, though he sounds rather nasally because of his bloody nose. "He's not worth it, Kyoya. I know you're angry. But don't fight him. Just leave him. He's just scum."

Hibari, miraculously, stops, but his breathing is heavy and Yamamoto can feel the faint tremors of his shoulders being betrayed by their closeness. For a moment, nobody moves. Then, the bell by the doorway tinkles as the door opens.

"Alright, clear out of the way people, police coming through."

There were groans and mutters as the crowd parted and two officers walked up, a tall man with dark hair and a slightly younger woman with a slight tan. The bartender walks up, giving Yamamoto and Hibari a strange look.

"I called the police," she said lowly. "There will be no fighting in my bar."

"I apologize," Yamamoto offers stiffly, and manages to get more blood on his shirt.

He's reluctant to let the male officer yank Hibari out of his grasp, but the raven doesn't resist. He's still glaring at the ground, and is led out of the bar, though thankfully not in handcuffs. The female officer heads over to Kawamura, who's got a split lip, a black eye, a bloody nose, and a few scrapes on his hands. Serves him right, Yamamoto thinks viciously.

There's a bit of movement beside him, and he turns to see the owner of the bar hold out a napkin and a small bag of frozen peas to him. Grateful, Yamamoto takes it with a quiet thank you.

"I heard your conversation," the owner said in the same low voice. "I don't normally listen in on people, but that man is an asshole. And illness is nothing to joke about. If it's any consolation, I think he deserves a beating like that."

Yamamoto blinks, then chuckles dryly, mopping up the blood. "Yeah? Me too. But I'm glad you called the police. My boyfriend may not have been able to hold himself back completely, and honestly, I think I was about to lose my temper too."

The woman gives him a jerky nod and simply says, "Please don't make a mess of my bar again," before heading back behind the counter. Yamamoto watches her until he hears another person clear their throat next to him. It was the female officer, who made him recount all the events through his stuffy nose before telling him that he could pick Hibari up from the station's holding cells after twenty-four hours.

"He's not being charged, is he?" Yamamoto asks worriedly.

"The victim is not pressing charges, no." The officer replies, fixing her hat. "Stay out of trouble for the night."

"Yes ma'am," Yamamoto sighs, watching the officer leave. He doesn't exit the bar until the police car has driven off.

He vaguely wonders if the owner would let him take a shot of stronger before he leaves, and then realizes that this is the first time he'd ever heard Hibari call Tsuna by their friend's first name.

* * *

"He did what?" Mukuro splutters, his voice tinny and tweaked through the laptop's crappy speakers. "Hibari did— _what_?"

"Don't panic," Yamamoto cuts in hurriedly. "Don't panic, he's not being charged. The asshole of a talent scout didn't press any."

"But still," Reborn grumbles, sinking into the sofa next to Yamamoto. "What the hell was he thinking?"

"It was upsetting, okay," Yamamoto groans, burying his head in his hands. "You would've reacted the same way, don't fucking lie."

Mukuro rolls his eyes and shoves a hand through his hair. "Well, obviously. But you're in a spot of trouble now. That's just lovely now, isn't it?"

"Shut up," Yamamoto mutters in reply. He's at Reborn's again, and this time with Mukuro on Skype so that Yamamoto could tell him what happened about three hours ago at Shimon's. He could see bits and pieces of Chrome's house in the background, and it's a nice place, decorated simply with a painting or two hanging off the walls. Mukuro seems to be sitting in a nicely furnished living room.

It is now one in the morning, and it had been an exhausting evening.

"Alright," Reborn yawns, getting up to stretch. "We are not telling Tsuna this, alright? We. Are. Not. Telling. Him."

"Whatever floats your boat." Mukuro shrugs. "He'll find out either way, you know."

"Yeah, well, now isn't the time for him to hear about something like this," Reborn growls, giving Mukuro the finger. "I'm going to bed. Stay if you want, Yamamoto." And with that, the elder of the two disappeared into the other bedroom. Yamamoto watches Reborn go, feeling small and awkward.

"Don't worry about him," Mukuro says quietly on the other side. "He's angry. Angry that he can't do anything about this."

"Are you angry?" Yamamoto blurts out, half-curious. Mukuro tilts his head thoughtfully.

"I think I am," the drummer replies softly. "Feeling useless and hopeless is enough to put anybody in a mood. Especially since it's someone we care about. Don't feel too badly about Reborn, Yamamoto."

"Alright," Yamamoto sighs, scrubbing his face wearily. "Say hello to Chrome for me sometime? How's she coming along?"

"She's doing great," Mukuro says, glancing nervously off to the side. "Well— it's been about eight months now. The baby's due late September, or early October."

"That's awesome," Yamamoto grins, feeling a prickle of warmth for the couple despite everything. "Tell her to take care."

"Will do," Mukuro nods, and then lets out a long breath. "I'm going to be a father soon, aren't I? It's a strange feeling, kufufufu."

"You'll get used to it," Yamamoto chuckles. "I'm going to turn in. Goodnight."

"Later," Mukuro replies, and then Mukuro shuts his computer off. Yamamoto shuts the laptop down before stretching himself across Reborn's lumpy couch, his throat tight and back stiff. Too much was happening to him in such a short amount of time, and his emotions just didn't know how to catch up.

It was going to be a long day tomorrow.

* * *

_Part VII End_

* * *

Thanks for reading! English exam in two days, ahhhhhh.

-BlackStar


End file.
